THE   NOVELS  OF 

IVAN    TURGENEV 


THE    NOVELS    OF 

IVAN    TURGENEV 


I.    RUDIN. 
II.   A  HOUSE  OF  GENTLEFOLK. 

III.  ON  THE  EVE. 

IV.  FATHERS  AND  CHILDREN. 
V.   SMOKE. 

VI.  &  VII.  VIRGIN  SOIL.   -  2  vols. 
VIII.  &  IX.   A  SPORTSMAN'S  SKETCHES.    2  vols. 
X.   DREAM  TALES  AND  PROSE  POEMS. 
XL   THE  TORRENTS  OF  SPRING,  ETC. 
XII.   A  LEAR  OF  THE  STEPPES. 

XIII.  THE   DIARY    OF    A    SUPERFLUOUS 

MAN,  ETC. 

XIV.  A  DESPERATE  CHARACTER,  ETC. 
XV.  THE  JEW,  ETC. 


NEW  YORK:  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

LONDON:   WILLIAM   HEINEMANN 


THE  NOVELS  OF  IVAN  TURGENEV 


RUDIN 

TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  RUSSIAN 

By 

CONSTANCE  GARNETT 


NEW  YORK :  THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

LONDON:    WILLIAM   HEINEMANN 

MCMXX 


i  ., 


<йг; 


Printed  in  Great  Britain 


MAIN   LIBRARY 


К2 


INTRODUCTION 


TURGENEV  is  an  author  who  no  longer  belongs 
to  Russia  only.  During  the  last  fifteen  years 
of  his  life  he  won  for  himself  the  reading  public, 
first  in  France,  then  in  Germany  and  America, 
and  finally  in  England. 

In  his  funeral  oration  the  spokesman  of  the 
most  artistic  and  critical  of  European  nations, 
Ernest  Renan,  hailed  him  as  one  of  the  greatest 
writers  of  our  times :  *  The  Master,  whose  ex- 
quisite works  have  charmed  our  century,  stands 
more  than  any  other  man  as  the  incarnation 
of  a  whole  race,'  because  *  a  whole  world  lived 
in  him  and  spoke  through  his  mouth.'  Not 
the  Russian  world  only,  we  may  add,  but  the 
whole  Slavonic  world,  to  which  it  was  '  an 
honour  to  have  been  expressed  by  so  great  a 
Master.' 


tS^  W  i7  о  JL  <ьУ 


RUDIN 

This  recognition  was,  however,  of  slow  growth. 
It  had  nothing  in  it  of  the  sudden  wave  of 
curiosity  and  gushing  enthusiasm  which  in  a 
few  years  lifted  Count  Tolstoi  to  world-wide 
fame.  Neither  in  the  personality  of  Turgenev, 
nor  in  his  talent,  was  there  anything  to  strike 
and  carry  away  popular  imagination. 

By  the  fecundity  of  his  creative  talent 
Turgenev  stands  with  the  greatest  authors  of 
all  times.  The  gallery  of  living  people,  men, 
and  especially  women,  each  different  and  per- 
fectly individualised,  yet  all  the  creatures  of 
actual  life,  whom  Turgenev  introduces  to  us ; 
the  vast  body  of  psychological  truths  he  dis- 
covers, the  subtle  shades  of  men's  feelings  he 
reveals  to  us,  is  such  as  only  the  greatest 
among  the  great  have  succeeded  in  leaving  as 
their  artistic  inheritance  to  their  country  and 
to  the  world. 

As  regards  his  method  of  dealing  with  his 
material  and  shaping  it  into  mould,  he  stands 
even  higher  than  as  a  pure  creator.  Tolstoi  is 
more  plastical,  and  certainly  as  deep  and  original 
and  rich  in  creative  power  as  Turgenev,  and 
Dostoevsky  is  more  intense,  fervid,  and  drama- 


INTRODUCTION 

tic.  But  as  an  artist,  as  master  of  the  com- 
bination of  details  into  a  harmonious  whole,  as 
an  architect  of  imaginative  work,  he  surpasses 
all  the  prose  writers  of  his  country,  and  has  but 
few  equals  among  the  great  novelists  of  other 
lands.  Twenty-five  years  ago,  on  reading  the 
translation  of  one  of  his  short  stories  {Assyd)^ 
George  Sand,  who  was  then  at  the  apogee  of 
her  fame,  wrote  to  him :  '  Master,  all  of  us 
have  to  go  to  study  at  your  school.'  This  was, 
indeed,  a  generous  compliment,  coming  from 
the  representative  of  French  literature  which  is 
so  eminently  artistic.  But  it  was  not  flattery. 
As  an  artist,  Turgenev  in  reality  stands  with 
the  classics  who  may  be  studied  and  admired 
for  their  perfect  form  long  after  the  interest  of 
their  subject  has  disappeared.  But  it  seems 
that  in  his  very  devotion  to  art  and  beauty 
he  has  purposely  restricted  the  range  of  his 
creations. 

To  one  familiar  with  all  Turgenev's  works 
it  is  evident  that  he  possessed  the  keys  of  all 
human  emotions,  all  human  feelings,  the  highest 
and  the  lowest,  the  noble  as  well  as  the  base. 
From  the  height  of  his  superiority  he  saw  all, 
vii 


RUDIN 

understood  all :  Nature  and  men  had  no  secrets 
hidden  from  his  calm,  penetrating  eyes.  In  his 
latter  days,  sketches  such  as  Clara  Militch, 
The  Song  of  Triumphant  Love^  The  Dream, 
and  the  incomparable  Phantoms,  he  showed 
that  he  could  equal  Edgar  Рое,  Hofmann,  and 
Dostoevsky  in  the  mastery  of  the  fantastical, 
the  horrible,  the  mysterious,  and  the  incompre- 
hensible, which  live  somewhere  in  human  nerves, 
though  not  to  be  defined  by  reason. 

But  there  was  in  him  such  a  love  of  light, 
sunshine,  and  living  human  poetry,  such  an 
organic  aversion  for  all  that  is  ugly,  or  coarse 
and  discordant,  that  he  made  himself  almost 
exclusively  the  poet  of  the  gentler  side  of 
human  nature.  On  the  fringe  of  his  pictures 
or  in  their  background,  just  for  the  sake  of  con- 
trast, he  will  show  us  the  vices,  the  cruelties, 
even  the  mire  of  life.  But  he  cannot  stay 
in  these  gloomy  regions,  and  he  hastens  back 
■  to  the  realms  of  the  sun  and  flowers,  or  to  the 
poetical  moonlight  of  melancholy,  which  he 
loves  best  because  in  it  he  can  find  expression 
for  his  own  great  sorrowing  heart. 

Even  jealousy,  which  is  the  black  shadow  of 


INTRODUCTION 

the  most  poetical  of  human  feelings,  is  avoided 
by  the  gentle  artist.  He  hardly  ever  describes 
it,  only  alluding  to  it  cursorily.  But  there  is 
no  novelist  who  gives  so  much  room  to  the 
pure,  crystalline,  eternally  youthful  feeling  of 
love.  We  may  say  that  the  description  of 
love  is  Turgenev's  speciality.  What  Francesco 
Petrarca  did  for  one  kind  of  love — the  roman- 
tic, artificial,  hot-house  love  of  the  times  of 
chivalry — Turgenev  did  for  the  natural,  spon- 
taneous, modern  love  in  all  its  variety  of  forms, 
kinds,  and  manifestations  :  the  slow  and  gradual  ^ 
as  well  as  the  sudden  and  instantaneous  ;  the  ( 
spiritual,  the  admiring  and  inspiring,  as  well 
as  the  life-poisoning,  terrible  kind  of  love,  which 
infects  a  man  as  a  prolonged  disease.  There  is 
something  prodigious  in  Turgenev's  insight  into, 
and  his  inexhaustible  richness,  truthfulness,  and 
freshness  in  the  rendering  of  those  emotions 
which  have  been  the  theme  of  all  poets  and 
novelists  for  two  thousand  years. 

In    the   well  -  known    memoirs    of   Caroline 

Bauer  one  comes  across  a  curious  legend  about 

Paganini.     She  tells  that  the  great  enchanter 

owed  his  unique  command  over  the  emotions 

ix 


RUDIN 

of  his  audiences  to  a  peculiar  use  of  one  single 
string,  G,  which  he  made  sing  and  whisper,  cry 
and  thunder,  at  the  touch  of  his  marvellous 
bow. 

There  is  something  of  this  in  Turgenev's 
description  of  love.  He  has  many  other  strings 
at  his  harp,  but  his  greatest  effect  he  obtains  in 
touching  this  one.  His  stories  are  not  love  poems. 
He  only  prefers  to  present  his  people  in  the 
light  of  that  feeling  in  which  a  man's  soul 
gathers  up  all  its  highest  energies,  and  melts 
as  in  a  crucible,  showing  its  dross  and  its  pure 
metal. 

Turgenev  began  his  literary  career  and  won 
an  enormous  popularity  in  Russia  by  his 
sketches  from  peasant  life.  His  Diary  of  a 
Sportsman  contains  some  of  the  best  of  his 
short  stories,  and  his  Country  Inn,  written  a 
few  years  later,  in  the  maturity  of  his  talent,  is 
as  good  as  Tolstoi's  little  masterpiece,  Poli- 
kushka. 

He  was  certainly  able  to  paint  all  classes 
and  conditions  of  Russian  people.  But  in 
his     greater    works    Turgenev    lays    the    ac- 


INTRODUCTION 

tion  exclusively  with  one  class  of  Russian 
people.  There  is  nothing  of  the  enormous 
canvas  of  Count  Tolstoi,  in  which  the  whole 
of  Russia  seems  to  pass  in  review  before  the 
readers,  /in  Turgenev's  novels  we  see  only 
educated  Russia,  or  rather  the  more  advanced 
thinking  part  of  it,  which  he  knew  best,  be- 
cause he  was  a  part  of  it  himself./ 

We  are  far  from  regretting  this  specialisation. 
Quality  can  sometimes  hold  its  own  against 
quantity.  Although  small  numerically,  the 
section  of  Russian  society  which  Turgenev 
represents  is  enormously  interesting,  because  it 
is  the  brain  of  the  nation,  the  living  ferment 
which  alone  can  leaven  the  huge  unformed 
masses.  It  is  upon  them  that  depend  the  des- 
tinies of  their  country.  Besides,  the  artistic 
value  of  his  works  could  only  be  enhanced  by  his 
concentrating  his  genius  upon  a  field  so  familiar 
to  him,  and  engrossing  so  completely  his  mind 
and  his  sympathies.  What  he  loses  in  dimen- 
sions he  gains  in  correctness,  depth,  wonderful 
subtlety  and  effectiveness  of  every  minute  detail, 
and  the  surpassing  beauty  of  the  whole.  The 
jewels  of  art  he  left  us  are  like  those   which 


RUDIN 

nations  store  in  the  sanctuaries  of  their 
museums  and  galleries  to  be  admired,  the 
longer  they  are  studied.  But  we  must  look  to 
Tolstoi  for  the  huge  and  towering  monuments^ 
hewn  in  massive  granite,  to  be  put  upon  some 
crossway  of  nations  as  an  object  of  wonder  and 
admiration  for  all  who  come  from  the  four 
winds  of  heaven. 

Turgenev  did  not  write  for  the  masses  but 
for  the  elite  among  men.  The  fact  that  he  has 
won  such  a  fame  among  foreigners,  and  that  the 
number  of  his  readers  is  widening  every  year, 
proves  that  great  art  is  international,  and  also, 
I  may  say,  that  artistic  taste  and  understanding 
is  growing  everywhere. 

II 

It  is  written  that  no  man  is  a  prophet  in  his 
own  country,  and  from  time  immemorial  all  the 
unsuccessful  aspirants  to  the  profession  have 
found  their  consolation  in  this  proverbial  truth. 
But  for  aught  we  know  this  hard  limitation  has 
never  been  applied  to  artists.  Indeed  it  seems 
absurd  on  the  face  of  it  that  the  artist's  country- 
men, for  whom  and  about  whom  he  writes, 
xii 


INTRODUCTION 

should  be  less  fit  to  recognise  him  than  stran- 
gers. Yet  in  certain  special  and  peculiar  condi- 
tions, the  most  unlikely  things  will  sometimes 
occur,  as  is  proved  in  the  case  of  Turgenev. 

The  fact  is  that  as  an  artist  he  was  appreci- 
ated to  his  full  value  first  by  foreigners.  The 
Russians  have  begun  to  understand  him,  and 
to  assign  to  him  his  right  place  in  this  respect 
only  now,  after  his  death,  whilst  in  his  lifetime 
his  artistic  genius  was  comparatively  little  cared 
for,  save  by  a  handful  of  his  personal  friends. 

This  supreme  art  told  upon  the  Russian 
public  unconsciously,  as  it  was  bound  to  tell 
upon  a  nation  so  richly  endowed  with  natural 
artistic  instinct.  Turgenev  was  always  the  most 
widely  read  of  Russian  authors,  not  except- 
ing Tolstoi,  who  came  to  the  front  only  after  his 
death.  But  full  recognition  he  had  not,  because 
he  happened  to  produce  his  works  in  a  troubled 
epoch  of  political  and  social  strife,  when  the 
best  men  were  absorbed  in  other  interests  and 
pursuits,  and  could  not  and  would  not  appreci- 
ate and  enjoy  pure  art.  This  was  the  painful, 
almost  tragic,  position  of  an  artist,  who  lived 
in  a  most  inartistic  epoch,  and  whose  highest 


RUDIN 


aspirations  and  noblest  efforts  wounded  and 
irritated  those  among  his  countrymen  whom  he 
was  most  devoted  to,  and  whom  he  desired  most 
ardently  to  serve. 

This  strife  embittered  Turgenev*s  life. 

At  one  crucial  epoch  of  his  literary  career  the 
conflict  became  so  vehement,  and  the  outcry 
against  him,  set  in  motion  by  his  very  artistic 
truthfulness  and  objectiveness,  became  so  loud 
and  unanimous,  that  he  contemplated  giving 
up  literature  altogether.  He  could  not  possibly 
have  held  to  this  resolution.  But  it  is  surely 
an  open  question  whether,  sensitive  and  modest 
as  he  was,  and  prone  to  despondency  and 
diffidence,  he  would  have  done  so  much  for  the 
literature  of  his  country  without  the  enthusiastic 
encouragement  of  various  great  foreign  novelists, 
who  were  his  friends  and  admirers:  George 
Sand,  Gustave  Flaubert,  in  France ;  Auerbach, 
in  Germany;  W.  D.  Howells,  in  America; 
George  Eliot,  in  England. 

We  will  tell  the  story  of  his  troubled  life 
piece  by  piece  as  far  as  space  will  allow,  as  his 
works  appear  in  succession.  Here  we  will  only 
give  a  few  biographical  traits  which  bear  par- 


XIV 


INTRODUCTION 

ticularly  upon  the  novel  before  us,  and  account 
for  his  peculiar .  hold  over  the  minds  of  his 
countrymen. 

Turgenev,  who  was  born  in  1818,  belonged 
to  a  set  of  Russians  very  small  in  his  time,  who 
had  received  a  thoroughly  European  education 
in  no  way  inferior  to  that  of  the  best  favoured 
young  German  or  Englishman.  It  happened, 
moreover,  that  his  paternal  uncle,  Nicholas 
Turgenev,  the  famous  *  Decembrist,'  after  the 
failure  of  that  first  attempt  (December  14, 1825) 
to  gain  by  force  of  arms  a  constitutional 
government  for  Russia,  succeeded  in  escaping 
the  vengeance  of  the  Tsar  Nicholas  I.,  and 
settled  in  France,  where  he  published  in  French 
the  first  vindication  of  Russian  revolution. 

Whilst  studying  philosophy  in  the  Berlin 
University,  Turgenev  paid  short  visits  to  his 
uncle,  who  initiated  him  in  the  ideas  of  liberty, 
from  which  he  never  swerved  throughout  his 
long  life. 

In  the  sixties,  when  Alexander  Hertzen,  one 
of  the  most  gifted  writers  of  our  land,  a  spark- 
ling, witty,  pathetic,  and  powerful  journalist  and 
brilliant  essayist,  started  in  London  his  Kolokol, 


RUDIN 

a  revolutionary,  or  rather  radical  paper,  which 
had  a  great  influence  in  Russia,  Turgenev 
became  one  of  his  most  active  contributors  and 
advisers, — almost  a  member  of  the  editorial  staff. 

This  fact  has  been  revealed  a  few  years  ago 
by  the  publication,  which  we  owe  to  Professor 
Dragomanov,  of  the  private  correspondence 
between  Turgenev  and  Hertzen.  This  most  in- 
teresting little  volume  throws  quite  a  new  light 
upon  Turgenev,  showing  that  our  great  novelist 
was  at  the  same  time  one  of  the  strongest — 
perhaps  the  strongest — and  most  clear-sighted 
political  thinkers  of  his  time.  However  surprising 
such  a  versatility  may  appear,  it  is  proved  to 
demonstration  by  a  comparison  of  his  views,  his 
attitude,  and  his  forecasts,  some  of  which  have 
been  verified  only  lately,  with  those  of  the 
acknowledged  leaders  and  spokesmen  of  the 
various  political  parties  of  his  day,  including 
Alexander  Hertzen  himself  Turgenev's  are 
always  the  soundest,  the  most  correct  and  far- 
sighted  judgments,  as  latter-day  history  has 
proved. 

A  man  with  so  ardent  a  love  of  liberty,  and 
such  radical  views,  could    not  possibly  banish 


INTRODUCTION 

them  from  his  literary  works,  no  matter  how 
great  his  devotion  to  pure  art.  He  would  have 
been  a  poor  artist  had  he  inflicted  upon  him- 
self such  a  mutilation,  because  freedom  from 
all  restraints,  the  frank,  sincere  expression  of 
the  artist's  individuality,  is  the  life  and  soul  of 
all  true  art. 

Turgenev  gave  to  his  country  the  whole  of 
himself,  the  best  of  his  mind  and  of  his  creative 
fancy.  He  appeared  at  the  same  time  as  a 
teacher,  a  prophet  of  new  ideas,  and  as  a  poet 
and  artist.  But  his  own  countrymen  hailed 
him  in  the  first  capacity,  remaining  for  a  long 
time  obtuse  to  the  latter  and  greater. 

Thus,  during  one  of  the  most  important  and 
interesting  periods  of  our  national  history, 
Turgenev  was  the  standard-bearer  and  in- 
spirer  of  the  Liberal,  the  thinking  Russia. 
Although  the  two  men  stand  at  diametrically 
opposite  poles,  Turgenev's  position  can  be 
compared  to  that  of  Count  Tolstoi  nowadays, 
with  a  difference,  this  time  in  favour  of  the 
author  of  D7nitri  Rudin.  With  Turgenev  the 
thinker  and  the  artist  are  not  at  war,  spoil- 
ing and  sometimes  contradicting  each  other's 
хл11  b 


RUDIN 

efforts.  They  go  hand  in  hand,  because  he 
never  preaches  any  doctrine  whatever,  but  gives 
us,  with  an  unimpeachable,  artistic  objective- 
ness,  the  living  men  and  women  in  whom 
certain  ideas,  doctrines,  and  aspirations  were 
embodied.  And  he  never  evolves  these  ideas 
and  doctrines  from  his  inner  consciousness,  but 
takes  them  from  real  life,  catching  with  his 
unfailing  artistic  instinct  an  incipient  move- 
ment just  at  the  moment  when  it  was  to 
become  a  historic  feature  of  the  time.  Thus 
his  novels  are  a  sort  of  artistic  epitome  of 
the  intellectual  history  of  modern  Russia,  and 
also  a  powerful  instrument  of  her  intellectual 
progress. 


Ill 

Rudin  is  the  first  of  Turgenev's  social 
novels,  and  is  a  sort  of  artistic  introduction 
to  those  that  follow,  because  it  refers  to  the 
epoch  anterior  to  that  when  the  present  social 
and  political  movements  began.  This  epoch 
is  being  fast  forgotten,  and  without  his  novel 
it   would   be   difficult   for   us   to  fully   realise 


INTRODUCTION 

It,  but  it  is  well  worth  studying,  because  we  find 
in  it  the  germ  of  future  growths. 

It  was  a  gloomy  time.  The  ferocious  des- 
potism of  Nicholas  I. — overweighing  the  country 
like  the  stone  lid  of  a  coffin,  crushed  every 
word,  every  thought,  which  did  not  fit  with 
its  narrow  conceptions.  But  this  was  not  the 
worst.  The  worst  was  that  progressive  Russia 
was  represented  by  a  mere  handful  of  men,  who 
were  so  immensely  in  advance  of  their  sur- 
roundings, that  in  their  own  country  they  felt 
more  isolated,  helpless,  and  out  of  touch  with 
the  realities  of  life  than  if  they  had  lived  among 
strangers. 

But  men  must  have  some  outlet  for  their 
spiritual  energies,  and  these  men,  unable  to 
take  part  in  the  sordid  or  petty  pursuits 
of  those  around  them,  created  for  them- 
selves artificial  life,  artificial  pursuits  and  in- 
terests. 

The  isolation  in  which  they  lived  drew  them 
naturally  together.  The  *  circle,'  something  be- 
tween an  informal  club  and  a  debating  society, 
became  the  form  in  which  these  cravings  of 
mind  or  heart  could  be  satisfied.     These  people 


RUDIN 

met  and  talked  ;  that  was  all  they  were  able 
to  do. 

The  passage  in  which  one  of  the  heroes, 
Lezhnyov,  tells  the  woman  he  loves  about  the 
circle  of  which  Dmitri  Rudin  and  himself 
were  members,  is  historically  one  of  the  most 
suggestive.  It  refers  to  a  circle  of  young 
students.  But  it  has  a  wider  application.  All 
prominent  men  of  the  epoch — Stankevitch,  who 
served  as  model  to  the  poetic  and  touching 
figure  of  Pokorsky ;  Alexander  Hertzen,  and  the 
great  critic,  Belinsky — all  had  their  *  circles,'  or 
their  small  chapels,  in  which  these  enthusiasts 
met  to  offer  worship  to  the  *  goddess  of  truth, 
art,  and  morality.' 

They  were  the  best  men  of  their  time,  full 
of  high  aspirations  and  knowledge,  and  their 
disinterested  search  after  truth  was  certainly  a 
noble  pursuit.  They  had  full  right  to  look 
down  upon  their  neighbours  wallowing  in  the 
mire  of  sordid  and  selfish  materialism.  But 
by  living  in  that  spiritual  hothouse  of  dreams, 
philosophical  speculations,  and  abstractions, 
these  men  unfitted  themselves  only  the  more 
completely  for   participation  in   real    life;   th? 


INTRODUCTION 

absorption  in  interests  having  nothing  to  do  with 
the  life  of  their  own  country,  estranged  them 
still  more  from  it.  The  overwhelming  stream 
of  words  drained  them  of  the  natural  sources 
of  spontaneous  emotion,  and  these  men  almost 
grew  out  of  feeling  by  dint  of  constantly  ana- 
lysing their  feelings. 

Dmitri  Rudin  is  the  typical  man  of  that 
generation,  both  the  victim  and  the  hero  of 
his  time — a  man  who  is  almost  a  Titan  in  word 
and  a  pigmy  in  deed.  He  is  eloquent  as  a 
young  Demosthenes.  An  irresistible  debater, 
he  carries  everything  before  him  the  moment  he 
appears.  But  he  fails  ignominiously  when  put 
to  the  hard  test  of  action.  Yet  he  is  not  an 
impostor.  His  enthusiasm  is  contagious  because 
it  is  sincere,  and  his  eloquence  is  convincing 
because  devotion  to  his  ideals  is  an  absorbing 
passion  with  him.  He  would  die  for  them,  and, 
what  is  more  rare,  he  would  not  swerve  a  hair's- 
breadth  from  them  for  any  worldly  advantage, 
or  for  fear  of  any  hardship.  Only  this  passion 
and  this  enthusiasm  spring  with  him  entirely 
from  the  head.  The  heart,  the  deep  emotional 
power  of  human  love  and   pity,  lay  dormant 


Ы 


RUDIN 

in  him.  Humanity,  which  he  would  serve  to 
the  last  drop  of  his  blood,  is  for  him  a  body 
of  foreigners — French,  English,  Germans — 
whom  he  has  studied  from  books,  and  whom 
he  has  met  only  in  hotels  and  watering-places 
during  his  foreign  travels  as  a  student  or  as  a 
toijirist. 

Towards  such  an  abstract^lien  humanity^^  a 
man  cannot  feel  any  real  attachment.  With  all 
his  outward  ardour,  Rudin  is  cold  as  ice  at  the 
bottom  of  his  heart.  His  is  an  enthusiasm 
which  glows  without  warmth,  like  the  aurora 
borealis  of  the  Polar  regions.  A  poor  sub- 
stitute for  the  bountiful  sun.  But  what  would 
have  become  of  a  God-forsaken  land  if  the 
Arctic  nights  were  deprived  of  that  substitute  ? 
With  all  their  weaknesses,  Rudin  and  the  men 
of  his  stamp — in  other  words,  the  men  of  the 
generation  of  1840 — have  rendered  an  heroic 
service  to  their  country.  They  inculcated  in  it 
the  religion  of  the  ideal ;  they  brought  in  the 
seeds,  which  had  only  to  be  thrown  into  the 
warm  furrow  of  their  native  soil  to  bring  forth 
the  rich  crops  of  the  future. 

The  shortcomings  and  the  impotence  of  these 
xxii 


INTRODUCTION 

men  were  due  to  their  having  no  organic  ties 
with  their  own  country,  no  roots  in  the  Russian 
soil.  They  hardly  knew  the  Russian  people, 
who  appeared  to  them  as  nothing  more  than 
an  historic  abstraction.  They  were  really  cos- 
mopolitan, as  a  poor  makeshift  for  something 
better,  and  Turgenev,  in  making  his  hero 
die  on  a  French  barricade,  was  true  to  life  as 
well  as  to  art. 

The  inward  growth  of  the  country  has  re- 
medied this  defect  in  the  course  of  the  three 
generations  which  have  followed.  But  has 
the  remedy  been  complete?  No  ;  far  from  it, 
unfortunately.  There  are  still  thousands  of 
barriers  preventing  the  Russians  from  doing 
something  useful  for  their  countrymen  and 
mixing  freely  with  them.  The  spiritual  ener- 
gies of  the  most  ardent  are  still  compelled 
— partially  at  least — to  run  into  the  artificial 
channels  described  in  Turgenev's  novel. 

Hence  the  perpetuation  of  Rudin's  type, 
which  acquires  more  than  an  historical  in- 
terest. 

In  discussing  the  character  of  Hlestakov, 
the  hero  of  his  great  comedy,  Gogol  declared 
xxiii 


RUDIN 

that  this  type  is  pretty  nigh  universal,  because 
*  every  Russian/  he  says,  *  has  a  bit  of  Hlesta- 
kov  in  him.'  This  not  very  flattering  opinion 
has  been  humbly  indorsed  and  repeated  since, 
out  of  reverence  to  Gogol's  great  authority, 
although  it  is  untrue  on  the  face  of  it.  Hles- 
takov  is  a  sort  of  Tartarin  in  Russian  dress, 
whilst  simplicity  and  sincerity  are  the  funda- 
mental traits  of  all  that  is  Russian  in  character, 
manner,  art,  literature.  But  it  may  be  truly 
said  that  every  educated  Russian  of  our  time 
has  a  bit  of  Dmitri  Rudin  in  him. 

This  figure  is  undoubtedly  one  of  the  finest 
in  Turgenev's  gallery,  and  it  is  at  the  same 
time  one  of  the  most  brilliant  examples  of  his 
artistic  method. 

Turgenev  does  not  give  us  at  one  stroke 
sculptured  figures  made  from  one  block,  such  as 
rise  before  us  from  Tolstoi's  pages.  His  art  is 
rather  that  of  a  painter  or  musical  composer 
than  of  a  sculptor.  He  has  more  colour,  a 
deeper  perspective,  a  greater  variety  of  lights 
and  shadows — a  more  complete  portraiture  of 
the  spiritual  man.  Tolstoi's  people  stand  so 
living  and  concrete  that  one  feels  one  can  recog 
xxiv 


INTRODUCTION 

nise  them  in  the  street.  Turgenev*s  are  like 
people  whose  intimate  confessions  and  private 
correspondence,  unveiling  all  the  secrets  of 
their  spiritual  life,  have  been  submitted  to 
one. 

Every  scene,  almost  every  line,  opens  up  new 
deep  horizons,  throwing  upon  his  people  some 
new  unexpected  light. 

The  extremely  complex  and  difficult  char- 
acter of  the  hero  of  this  story,  shows  at  its 
highest  this  subtle  psychological  many-sided- 
ness. Dmitri  Rudin  is  built  up  of  contradic- 
tions, yet  not  for  a  moment  does  he  cease  to  be 
perfectly  real,  living,  and  concrete. 

Hardly  less  remarkable  is  the  character  of 
the  heroine.^yatalya,  the  quiet,  sober,  matter- 
of-fact  girl,  who  at  the  bottom  is  an  enthu- 
siastic and  heroic  nature.  She  is  but  a  child 
fresh  to  all  impressions  of  life,  and  as  yet 
undeveloped.  To  have  used  the  searching, 
analytical  method  in  painting  her  would  have 
spoiled  this  beautiful  creation.  Turgenev 
describes  her  synthetically  by  a  few  masterly 
lines,  which  show  us,  however,  the  secrets  of 
her  spirit ;  revealing  what  she  is  and  also  what 


RUDIN 


she  might  have  become  under   other   circum- 
stances. 

This  character  deserves  more  attention  than 
Ue  can  give  it  here.     Turgenev,  like  George 
(Meredith,  is  a  master  in  painting  women,  and 
/his  Natalya  is  the  first  poetical  revelation  of 
a  very  striking  fact  in  modern  Russian  history ; 
'  the  appearance  of  women  possessing  a  strength 
of  mind  more   finely  masculine  than  that  of 
the  men  of  their  time.     By  the  side  of  weak, 
irresolute,  though  highly  intellectual  men  we 
see  in  his  first  three  novels  energetic,  earnest, 
impassioned    women,    who    take    the   lead    in 
action,  whilst  they  are  but  the  man's  modest 
pupils  in  the  domain  of  ideas.     Only  later  on, 
in  Fathers  and  Children,  does  Turgenev  show 
us   in   Bazarov   a   man    essentially   masculine. 
But  of  this  interesting  peculiarity  of  Russian 
intellectual  life,  in  the  years  1840  to  i860,  I 
will  speak  more  fully  when  analysing  another 
of  Turgenev's  novels  in  which  this  contrast  is 
most  conspicuous. 

I  will  say  nothing  of  the  minor  characters 
of  the   story   before   us:   Lezhnyov,   Pigasov, 
Madame     Lasunsky,    Pandalevsky,    who    are 
xxvi 


INTRODUCTION 

all  excellent  examples  of  what  may  be  called 
miniature-painting. 

As  to  the  novel  as  a  whole,  I  will  make 
here  only  one  observation,  not  to  forestall  the 
reader's  own  impressions. 

Turgenev  is  a  realist  in  the  sense  that  he  "l 
keeps  close  to  reality,  truth,  and  nature.  But 
in  the  pursuit  of  photographic  faithfulness  to 
life,  he  never  allows  himself  to  be  tedious  and 
dull,  as  some  of  the  best  representatives  ofv^oV' 
the  school  think  it  incumbent  upon  them  to 
be.  His  descriptions  are  never  overburdened 
with  wearisome  details  ;  his  action  is  rapid  ;  the 
events  are  never  to  be  foreseen  a  hundred 
pages  beforehand  ;  he  keeps  his  readers  in 
constant  suspense.  And  it  seems  to  me  in 
so  doing  he  shows  himself  a  better  realist  than 
the  gifted  representatives  of  the  orthodox  real- 
ism in  France,  England,  and  America.  Life 
is  not  dull ;  life  is  full  of  the  unforeseen,  full 
of  suspense.  A  novelist,  however  natural  and 
logical,  must  contrive  to  have  it  in  his  novels 
if  he  is  not  to  sacrifice  the  soul  of  art  for  the 
merest  show  of  fidelity. 

The  plot  of  Dmitri  Rudin  is  so  exceedingly 


RUDIN 

simple  that  an  English  novel-reader  would  say 
that  there  is  hardly  any  plot  at  all.  Turgenev 
disdained  the  tricks  of  the  sensational  novelists. 
Yet,  for  a  Russian  at  least,  it  is  easier  to  lay 
down  before  the  end  a  novel  by  Victor  Hugo  or 
Alexander  Dumas  than  Dmitri  Rudin^  or, 
indeed,  any  of  Turgenev's  great  novels.  What 
the  novelists  of  the  romantic  school  obtain  by 
the  charm  of  unexpected  adventures  and  thrill- 
ing situations,  Turgenev  succeeds  in  obtaining 
by  the  brisk  admirably  concentrated  action,  and, 
above  all,  by  the  simplest  and  most  precious  of 
a  novelist's  gifts  :  his  unique  command  over  the 
sympathies  and  emotions  of  his  readers.  In 
this  he  can  be  compared  to  a  musician  who 
works  upon  the  nerves  and  the  souls  of  his 
audience  without  the  intermediary  of  the  mind  ; 
or,  better  still,  to  a  poet  who  combines  the 
power  of  the  word  with  the  magic  spell  of 
harmony.  One  does  not  read  his  novels ;  one 
lives  in  them. 

Much  of  this  peculiar  gift  of  fascination  is 

certainly  due   to   Turgenev's  mastery  over  all 

the  resources  of  our  rich,  flexible,  and  musical 

language.     The   poet   Lermontov  alone  wrote 

xxviii 


INTRODUCTION 

as  splendid  a  prose  as  Turgenev.  A  good  deal 
of  its  charm  is  unavoidably  lost  in  translation. 
But  I  am  happy  to  say  that  the  present  one  is 
as  near  an  approach  to  the  elegance  and  poetry 
of  the  original  as  I  have  ever  come  across. 

S.  STEPNIAK. 

Bedford  Park, 
April  20^  1894. 


XXIX 


THE  NAMES  OF  THE  CHARACTERS 
IN  THE  BOOK 

Dmitri  NikolAitch  Ri^din. 
Dar-ya  Mihailovna  Lasunsky. 
NatAl-ya  Alex-yevna. 
MihAilo  Mihailitch  Lezh-nyov  (Misha). 
Alexandra  Pavlovna  Lipin  (Sasha). 
Sergei    {pron.    Sergay)    Pavlitch    VoLfNx-SEV 
(Serezha). 

KONSTANTIN   DiOMIDITCH    PaNDAL^VSKY. 

African  SemjInitch  Pigasov. 

BASSfSTOFF. 

Mlle.  Boncourt. 


In  transcribing  the  Russian  names  into  English — 
a   has  the  sound  of  a  in  father, 
er        „  „        air, 

t  „  „         ее. 

и  „  „  00. 

у   is  always  consonantal  except  when  it  is 

the  last  letter  of  the  word. 
g  is  always  hard. 


I 

It  was  a  quiet  summer  morning.  The  sun 
stood  already  pretty  high  in  the  clear  sky  but 
the  fields  were  still  sparkling  with  dew ;  a  fresh 
breeze  blew  fragrantly  from  the  scarce  awakened 
valleys  and  in  the  forest,  still  damp  and  hushed, 
the  birds  were  merrily  carolling  their  morning 
song.  On  the  ridge  of  a  swelling  upland,  which 
was  covered  from  base  to  summit  with  blossom- 
ing rye,  a  little  village  was  to  be  seen.  Along 
a  narrow  by-road  to  this  little  village  a  young 
woman  was  walking  in  a  white  muslin  gown,  and 
a  round  straw  hat,  with  a  parasol  in  her  hand.  A 
page  boy  followed  her  some  distance  behind. 

She  moved  without  haste  and  as  though  she 
were  enjoying  the  walk.  The  high  nodding 
rye  all  round  her  moved  in  long  softly  rustling 
waves,  taking  here  a  shade  of  silvery  green  and 
there  a  ripple  of  red  ;   the  larks  were  trilling 


RUDIN 

overhead.  The  young  woman  had  come  from 
her  own  estate,  which  was  not  more  than  a  mile 
from  the  village  to  which  she  was  turning  her 
steps.  Her  name  was  Alexandra  Pavlovna 
Lipin.  She  was  a  widow,  childless,  and  fairly- 
well  off,  and  lived  with  her  brother,  a  retired 
cavalry  officer,  Sergei'  Pavlitch  Volintsev.  He 
was  unmarried  and  looked  after  her  property. 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  reached  the  village  and, 
stopping  at  the  last  hut,  a  very  old  and  low  one, 
she  called  up  the  boy  and  told  him  to  go  in  and 
ask  after  the  health  of  its  mistress.  He  quickly 
came  back  accompanied  by  a  decrepit  old 
peasant  with  a  white  beard. 

'Well,  how  is  she?'  asked  Alexandra  Pav- 
lovna. 

*  Well,  she  is  still  alive,'  began  the  old  man. 

*  Can  I  go  in  ? ' 

'  Of  course  ;  yes.* 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  went  into  the  hut.  It 
was  narrow,  stifling,  and  smoky  inside.  Some 
one  stirred  and  began  to  moan  on  the  stove 
which  formed  the  bed.  Alexandra  Pavlovna 
looked  round  and  discerned  in  the  half  dark- 
ness the  yellow  wrinkled  face  of  the  old  woman 

2 


RUDIN 

tied  up  in  a  checked  handkerchief.  Covered  to 
the  very  throat  with  a  heavy  overcoat  she  was 
breathing  with  difficulty,  and  her  wasted  hands 
were  twitching. 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  went  close  up  to  the 
old  woman  and  laid  her  fingers  on  her  forehead ; 
it  was  burning  hot. 

'How  do  you  feel,  Matrona?'  she  inquired, 
bending  over  the  bed. 

'  Oh,  oh !  *  groaned  the  old  woman,  trying 
to  make  her  out,  'bad,  very  bad,  my  dear! 
My  last  hour  has  come,  my  darling ! ' 

'  God  is  merciful,  Matrona  ;  perhaps  you  will 
be  better  soon.  Did  you  take  the  medicine  I 
sent  you  ? ' 

The  old  woman  groaned  painfully,  and  did 
not  answer.    She  had  hardly  heard  the  question. 

*  She  has  taken  it,'  said  the  old  man  who  was 
standing  at  the  door. 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  turned  to  him. 
'  Is  there  no  one  with  her   but   you .?  *  she 
inquired. 

*  There  is  the  girl — ^her  granddaughter,  but 
she  always  keeps  away.  She  won't  sit  with 
her;  she's  such  a  gad -about.     To  give  the  old 

3 


RUDIN 

woman  a  drink  of  water  is  too  much  trouble  for 
her.     And  I  am  old  ;  what  use  can  I  be  ? ' 

*  Shouldn't  she  be  taken  to  me  —  to  the 
hospital  ?  * 

*  No.  Why  take  her  to  the  hospital  ?  She 
would  die  just  the  same.  She  has  lived  her  life; 
it's  God's  will  now  seemingly.  She  will  never 
get  up  again.  How  could  she  go  to  the  hospital? 
If  they  tried  to  lift  her  up,  she  would  die.' 

*  Oh ! '  moaned  the  sick  woman,  *  my  pretty 
lady,don't  abandon  my  little  orphan;  our  master 
is  far  away,  but  you * 

She  could  not  go  on,  she  had  spent  all  her 
strength  in  saying  so  much. 

'  Do  not  worry  yourself,'  replied  Alexandra 
Pavlovna,  'everything  shall  be  done.  Here  is 
some  tea  and  sugar  I  have  brought  you.  If 
you  can  fancy  it  you  must  drink  some.  Have 
you  a  samovar,  I  wonder  ? '  she  added,  looking 
at  the  old  man. 

*  A  samovar  ?  We  haven't  a  samovar,  but 
we  could  get  one.' 

*  Then  get  one,  or  I  will  send  you  one.  And 
tell  your  granddaughter  not  to  leave  her  like 
this.     Tell  her  it 's  shameful.' 


AUDIN 

The  old  man  made  no  answer  but  took  the 
parcel  of  tea  and  sugar  with  both  hands. 

'  Well,  good-bye,  Matrona  ! '  said  Alexandra 
Pavlovna,  '  I  will  come  and  see  you  again  ;  and 
you  must  not  lose  heart  but  take  your  medicine 
regularly/ 

The  old  woman  raised  her  head  and  drew 
herself  a  little  towards  Alexandra  Pavlovna. 

*  Give  me  your  little  hand,  dear  lady/  she 
muttered. 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  did  not  give  her  hand; 
she  bent  over  her  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead. 

*  Take  care,  now/  she  said  to  the  old  man  as 
she  went  out, '  and  give  her  the  medicine  without 
fail,  as  it  is  .written  down,  and  give  her  some 
tea  to  drink.' 

Again  the  old  man  made  no  reply,  but  only 
bowed. 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  breathed  more  freely 
when  she  came  out  into  the  fresh  air.  She  put 
up  her  parasol  and  was  about  to  start  home- 
wards, when  suddenly  there  appeared  round 
the  corner  of  a  little  hut  a  man  about  thirty, 
driving  a  low  racing  droshky  and  wearing  an 
old  overcoat  of  grey  linen,  and  a  foraging  cap 
5 


RUDIN 

of  the  same.  Catching  sight  of  Alexandra 
Pavlovna  he  at  once  stopped  his  horse  and 
turned  round  towards  her.  His  broad  and 
colourless  face  with  its  small  light  grey  eyes 
and  almost  white  moustache  seemed  all  in  the 
same  tone  of  colour  as  his  clothes. 

*  Good-morning ! '  he  began,  with  a  lazy  smile; 
'what  are  you  doing  here,  if  I  may  ask  ?' 

*  I  have  been  visiting  a  sick  woman  .  .  . 
And  where  have  you  come  from,  Mihailo 
Mihailitch?' 

The  man  addressed  as  Mihailo  Mihailitch 
looked  into  her  eyes  and  smiled  again. 

*  You  do  well,'  he  said,  *  to  visit  the  sick,  but 
wouldn't  it  be  better  for  you  to  take  her  into 
the  hospital  ? ' 

*  She  is  too  weak  ;  impossible  to  move  her.' 
*But    don't    you    intend   to    give    up    your 

hospital  ? ' 

'Give  it  up?    Why?' 

*  Oh,  I  thought  so.' 

*  What  a  strange  notion  !  What  put  such  an 
idea  into  your  head  ? ' 

'  Oh,  you  are  always  with  Madame  Lasunsky 
now,  you  know,  and  seem  to  be  under  her  influ- 
6 


RUDIN 

snce.  And  in  her  words — hospitals,  schools, 
and  all  that  sort  of  things,  are  mere  waste  of 
time — useless  fads.  Philanthropy  ought  to  be 
entirely  personal,  and  education  too,  all  that 
is  the  soul's  work  .  .  .  that 's  how  she  expresses 
herself,  I  believe.  From  whom  did  she  pick 
up  that  opinion  I  should  like  to  know  ?  * 
Alexandra  Pavlovna  laughed. 

*  Darya  Mihailovna  is  a  clever  woman,  I  like 
and  esteem  her  very  much  ;  but  she  may  make 
mistakes,  and  I  don't  put  faith  in  everything  she 
says.' 

*  And  it's  a  very  good  thing  you  don't,'  re- 
joined Mihailo  Mihailitch,  who  all  the  while 
remained  sitting  in  his  droshky,  *  for  she  doesn't 
put  much  faith  in  what  she  says  herself.  I  'm 
very  glad  I  met  you.* 

*  Why .? ' 

*  That 's  a  nice  question  !  As  though  it  wasn't 
always  delightful  to  meet  you  ?  To-day  you 
look  as  bright  and  fresh  as  this  morning.' 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  laughed  again. 

*  What  are  you  laughing  at  ? ' 

*  What,  indeed  !  If  you  could  see  with  what  a 
cold  and  indifferent  face  you  brought  out  your 

7 


RUDIN 

compliment !     I  wonder  you  didn't  yawn  over 
the  last  word  !  * 

*  A  cold  face.  .  .  .  You  always  want  fire ;  but 
fire  is  of  no  use  at  all.  It  flares  and  smokes 
and  goes  out' 

'  And  warms/  .  .  .  put  in  Alexandra  Pav- 
lovna. 

*  Yes  .  .  .  and  burns/ 

*  Well,  what  if  it  does  burn  !  That 's  no  great 
harm  either  !     It 's  better  anyway  than ' 

*  Well,  we  shall  see  what  you  will  say  when 
you  do  get  nicely  burnt  one  day,'  Mihailo 
Mihailitch  interrupted  her  in  a  tone  of  vexa- 
tion and  made  a  cut  at  the  horse  with  the  reins, 
'  Good-bye.' 

*  Mihailo  Mihailitch,  stop  a  minute,'  cried 
Alexandra  Pavlovna,  *  when  are  you  coming  to 
see  us } ' 

*  To-morrow  ;  my  greetings  to  your  brother.' 
And  the  droshky  rolled  away. 
Alexandra   Pavlovna   looked    after   Mihailo 

Mihailitch. 

'  What  a  sack ! '  she  thought.  Sitting  huddled 
up  and  covered  with  dust,  his  cap  on  the  back 
of  his  head  and  tufts  of  flaxen  hair  straggling 


RUDIN 

from  beneath  it,  he  looked  strikingly  like  a  huge 
sack  of  flour. 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  turned  tranquilly  back 
along  the  path  homewards.  She  was  walking 
with  downcast  eyes.  The  tramp  of  a  horse 
near  made  her  stop  and  raise  her  head.  .  .  . 
Her  brother  had  come  on  horseback  to  meet 
her ;  beside  him  was  walking  a  young  man  of 
medium  height,  wearing  a  light  open  coat,  a  light 
tie,  and  a  light  grey  hat,  and  carrying  a  cane 
in  his  hand.  He  had  been  smiling  for  a  long 
time  at  Alexandra  Pavlovna,  even  though  he 
saw  that  she  was  absorbed  in  thought  and 
noticing  nothing,  and  when  she  stopped  he 
went  up  to  her  and  in  a  tone  of  delight,  almost 
of  emotion,  cried : 

'Good-morning,  Alexandra  Pavlovna,  good- 
morning  ! ' 

*  Ah  !  Konstantin  Diomiditch  !  good-morn- 
ing ! '  she  replied.  '  You  have  come  from  Darya 
Mihailovna  ? ' 

*  Precisely  so,  precisely  so,'  rejoined  the  young 
man  with  a  radiant  face, 'from  Darya  Mihailovna. 
Darya  Mihailovna  sent  me  to  you  ;  I  preferred 
to  walk.  ...  It 's  such  a  glorious  morning,  and 

9 


RUDIN 

the  distance  is  only  three  miles.  When  I  arrived, 
you  were  not  at  home.  Your  brother  told  me 
you  had  gone  to  Semenovka ;  and  he  was  just 
going  out  to  the  fields ;  so  you  see  I  walked 
with  him  to  meet  you.  Yes,  yes.  How  very 
delightful!' 

The  young  man  spoke  Russian  accurately 
and  grammatically  but  with  a  foreign  accent, 
though  it  was  difficult  to  determine  exactly 
what  accent  it  was.  In  his  features  there  was 
something  Asiatic.  His  long  hook  nose,  his  large 
expressionless  prominent  eyes,  his  thick  red  lips, 
and  retreating  forehead,  and  his  jet  black  hair, — 
everything  about  him  suggested  an  Oriental 
extraction ;  but  the  young  man  gave  his 
surname  as^  Pandalevsky  and  spoke  of  Odessa 
as  his  birthplace,  though  he  was  brought  up 
somewhere  in  White  Russia  at  the  expense  of 
a  rich  and  benevolent  widow. 

Another  widow  had  obtained  a  government 
post  for  him.  Middle-aged  ladies  were  generally 
ready  to  befriend  Konstantin  Diomiditch  ;  he 
knew  well  how  to  court  them  and  was  success- 
ful in  coming  across  them.  He  was  at  this  very 
time  living  with  a  rich  lady,  a  landowner,  Darya 
lo 


RUDIN 

Mihailovna  Lasunsky,  in  a  position  between  that 
of  a  guest  and  of  a  dependant.  He  was  very 
polite  and  obliging,full  of  sensibility  and  secretly 
given  to  sensuality,  he  had  a  pleasant  voice, 
played  well  on  the  piano,  and  had  the  habit  of 
gazing  intently  into  the  eyes  of  any  one  he  was 
speaking  to.  He  dressed  very  neatly,  and  wore 
his  clothes  a  very  long  time,  shaved  his  broad 
chin  carefully,  and  arranged  his  hair  curl  by  curl. 
Alexandra  Pavlovna  heard  his  speech  to  the 
end  and  turned  to  her  brother. 

*  I  keep  meeting  people  to-day  ;  I  have  just 
been  talking  to  Lezhnyov.* 

*  Oh,  Lezhnyov !  was  he  driving  somewhere  .-* ' 

*  Yes,  and  fancy  ;  he  was  in  a  racing  droshky, 
and  dressed  in  a  kind  of  linen  sack,  all  covered 
with  dust  .  .  .    What  a  queer  creature  he  is  Г 

*  Perhaps  so  ;  but  he  's  a  capital  fellow.* 
'Who.?  Mr. Lezhnyov.»*'  inquired  Pandalevsky, 

as  though  he  v/ere  surprised. 

'Yes,  Mihailo  Mihailitch  Lezhnyov,'  replied 
Volintsev.  '  Well,  good-bye  ;  it 's  time  I  was 
off  to  the  field ;  they  are  sowing  your  buck- 
wheat. Mr.  Pandalevsky  will  escort  you  home/ 
And  Volintsev  rode  off  at  a  trot, 
II 


RUDIN 

*  With  the  greatest  of  pleasure ! '  cried  Kon- 
stantin  Diomiditch,  offering  Alexandra  Pav- 
lovna  his  arm. 

She  took  it  and  they  both  turned  along  the 
path  to  her  house. 

Walking  with  Alexandra  Pavlovna  on  his 
arm  seemed  to  afford  Konstantin  Diomiditch 
great  delight  ;  he  moved  with  little  steps, 
smiling,  and  his  Oriental  eyes  were  even  be- 
dimmed  by  a  slight  moisture,  though  this 
indeed  was  no  rare  occurrence  with  them  ;  it 
did  not  mean  much  for  Konstantin  Diomiditch 
to  be  moved  and  dissolve  into  tears.  And  who 
would  not  have  been  pleased  to  have  on  his 
arm  a  pretty,  young  and  graceful  woman  ?  Of 
Alexandra  Pavlovna  the  whole  of  her  district 
was  unanimous  in  declaring  that  she  was  charm- 
ing, and  the  district  was  not  wrong.  Her 
straight,  ever  so  slightly  tilted  nose  would  have 
been  enough  alone  to  drive  any  man  out  of 
his  senses,  to  say  nothing  of  her  velvety  dark 
eyes,  her  golden  brown  hair,  the  dimples  in  her 
smoothly  curved  cheeks,  and  her  other  beauties. 
But  best  of  all  was  the  sweet  expression  of  her 
face  ;  confiding,  good  and  gentle,  it  touched  and 

12 


RUDIN 

attracted  at  the  same  time.  Alexandra  Pav- 
lovna  had  the  glance  and  the  smile  of  a  child  ; 
other  ladies  found  her  a  little  simple.  .  .  .  Could 
one  wish  for  anything  more  ? 

*  Darya  Mihailovna  sent  you  to  me,  did  you 
say  ? '  she  asked  Pandalevsky. 

*  Yes  ;  she  sent  me,'  he  answered,  pronouncing 
the  letter  s  like  the  English  th.  *  She  particu- 
larly wishes  and  told  me  to  beg  you  very 
urgently  to  be  so  good  as  to  dine  with  her 
to-day.  She  is  expecting  a  new  guest  whom 
she  particularly  wishes  you  to  meet' 

'  Who  is  it  ? ' 

'A  certain  Muffel,  a  baron,  a  gentleman  of 
the  bed-chamber  from  Petersburg.  Darya 
Mihailovna  made  his  acquaintance  lately  at 
the  Prince  Garin's,  and  speaks  of  him  in  high 
terms  as  an  agreeable  and  cultivated  young 
man.     His  Excellency  thg_  baron  i^  interested, 

too,  in  literature,  or  more  strictly  speaking 

ah !   what   an    exquisite    butterfly !   pray   look 

at  it! more   strictly  speaking,   i^^olitical_^ 

economy.     He  has  written  an  essay  on  some 
very  interesting  question,  and  wants  to  submit 
it  to  Darya  Mihailovna's  criticism.' 
13 


RUDIN 

'An  article  on  political  economy?* 

*  From  the  literary  point  of  view,  Alexandra 
Pavlovna,  from  the  literary  point  of  view.  You 
are  well  aware,  I  suppose,  that  in  that  line 
Darya  Mihailovna  is  an  authority.  Zhukovsky 
used  to  ask  her  advice,  and  my  benefactor,  who 
lives    at   Odessa,   that   benevolent    old    man, 

Roxolan  Mediarovitch  Ksandrika Nodoubt 

you  know  the  name  of  that  eminent  man?' 

'  No  ;  I  have  never  heard  of  him.' 

*  You  never  heard  of  such  a  man  ?  surprising ! 
I  was  going  to  say  that  Roxolan  Mediarovitch 
always  had  the  very  highest  opinion  of  Darya 
Mihailovna's  knowledge  of  Russian/ 

'  Is  this  baron  a  pedant  then  ? '  asked  Alex- 
andra Pavlovna. 

*  Not  in  the  very  least.  Darya  Mihailovna 
says,  on  the  contrary,  that  you  see  that  he 
belongs  to  the  best  society  at  once.  He  spoke 
of  Beethoven  with  such  eloquence  that  even 
the  old  prince  was  quite  delighted  by  it.  That, 
I  own,  I  should  like  to  have  heard  ;  you  know 
that  is  in  my  line.  Allow  me  to  offer  you  this 
lovely  wild-flower.' 

Alexandra   Pavlovna   took   the   flower,  and 
Ч 


RUDIN 

when  she  had  walked  a  few  steps  farther,  let  it 
drop  on  the  path.  They  were  not  more  than 
two  hundred  paces  from  her  house.      It  had 

been  recently  built  and  whitewashed,  and  looked 
out  hospitably  with  its  wide  light  windows  from 
the  thick  foliage  of  the  old  limes  and  maples. 

'  So  what  message  do  you  give  me  for  Darya 
Mihailovna?'  began  Pandalevsky,  slightly  hurt 
at  the  fate  of  the  flower  he  had  given  her.  *  Will 
you  come  to  dinner  ?  She  invites  your  brother 
too.' 

*  Yes ;  we  will  come,  most  certainly.  And 
how  is  Natasha  ? ' 

*  Natalya  Alexyevna  is  well,  I  am  glad  to  say. 
But  we  have  already  passed  the  road  that  turns 
off  to  Darya  Mihailovna's.  Allow  me  to  bid 
you  good-bye.' 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  stopped.  'But  won't 
you  come  in  ? '  she  said  in  a  hesitating  voice. 

'  I  should  like  to,  indeed,  but  I  am  afraid  it  is 
late.  Darya  Mihailovna  wishes  to  hear  a  new 
etude  of  Thalberg's,  so  I  must  practise  and  have 
it  ready.  Besides,  I  am  doubtful,  I  must  confess, 
whether  my  visit  could  afford  you  any  pleasure.' 

*0h,  no!  why?' 

15 


RUDIN 

Pandalevsky  sighed  and  dropped  his  eyes 
expressively. 

'  Good-bye,  Alexandra  Pavlovna !  *  he  said 
after  a  slight  pause  ;  then  he  bowed  and  turned 
back. 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  turned  roдnd  and  went 
home. 

Konstantin  Diomiditch,  too,  walked  home- 
wards. All  softness  had  vanished  at  once  from 
his  face ;  a  self-confident,  almost  hard  expres- 
sion came  into  it.  Even  his  walk  was  changed  ; 
his  steps  were  longer  and  he  trod  more  heavily. 
He  had  walked  about  two  miles,  carelessly 
swinging  his  cane,  when  all  at  once  he  began 
to  smile  again :  he  saw  by  the  roadside  a 
young,  rather  pretty  peasant  girl,  who  was 
driving  some  calves  out  of  an  oat-field.  Kon- 
stantin Diomiditch  approached  the  girl  as 
warily  as  a  cat,  and  began  to  speak  to  her. 
She  said  nothing  at  first,  only  blushed  and 
laughed,  but  at  last  she  hid  her  face  in  her 
sleeve,  turned  away,  and  muttered  : 

*  Go  away,  sir  ;  upon  my  word  .  .  .* 

Konstantin  Diomiditch  shook  his  finger  at 
her  and  told  her  to  bring  him  some  cornflowers. 
i6 


RUDIN 

*  What  do  you  want  with  cornflowers  ? — to 
make  a  wreath  ? '  replied  the  girl ;  '  come  now, 
go  along  then.* 

'Stop  a  minute,  my  pretty  little  dear/ 
Konstantin  Diomiditch  was  beginning. 

*  There  now,  go  along,'  the  girl  interrupted 
him,  *  there  are  the  young  gentlemen  coming.' 

Konstantin  Diomiditch  looked  round.  There 
really  were Vanya  and  Petya,  Darya  Mihailovna's 
sons,  running  along  the  road ;  after  them 
walked  their  tutor,  Bassistofif,  a  young  man  of 
two-and-twenty,  who  had  only  just  left  college. 
Bassistoff  was  a  well-grown  youth,  with  a  simple 
face,  a  large  nose,  thick  lips,  and  small  pig's 
eyes,  plain  and  awkward,  but  kind,  good,  and 
upright.  He  dressed  untidily  and  wore  his  hair 
long — not  from  affectation,  but  from  laziness ; 
he  liked  eating  and  he  liked  sleeping,  but  he 
also  liked  a  good  book,  and  an  earnest  conver- 
sation, and  he  hated  Pandalevsky  from  the 
depths  of  his  soul. 

Darya  Mihailovna's  children  worshipped 
Bassistoff,  and  yet  were  not  in  the  least  afraid  of 
him  ;  he  was  on  a  friendly  footing  with  all  the 
rest  of  the  household,  a  fact  which  was   not 

17  Li 


RUDIN 

altogether  pleasing  to  its  mistress,  though  she 
was  fond  of  declaring  that  for  her  social  pre- 
judices did  not  exist. 

*  Good-morning,  my  dears,'  began  Konstantin 
Diomiditch,  *  how  early  you  have  come  for  your 
walk  to-day!  But  I,'  he  added,  turning  to 
Bassistoff,  *  have  been  out  a  long  while  already  ; 
it's  my  passion — to  enjoy  nature.' 

*We  saw  how  you  were  enjoying  nature,' 
muttered  Bassistoff. 

'  You  are  a  materialist,  God  knows  what 
you  are  imagining !  I  know  you.'  When 
Pandalevsky  spoke  to  Bassistoff  or  people  like 
him,  he  grew  slightly  irritated,  and  pronounced 
the  letter  s  quite  clearly,  even  with  a  slight  hiss. 

*  Why,  were  you  asking  your  way  of  that  girl, 
am  I  to  suppose  ? '  said  Bassistoff,  shifting  his 
eyes  to  right  and  to  left. 

He  felt  that  Pandalevsky  was  looking  him 
straight  in  the  face,  and  this  fact  was  exceed- 
ingly unpleasant  to  him. 

*  I  repeat,  a  materialist  and  nothing  more. 
You  certainly  prefer  to  see  only  the  prosaic 
side  in  everything.' 

*  Boys ! '  cried  Bassistoff  suddenly,  *  do  you 

i8 


RUDIN 

see  that  willow  at  the  corner?  let's  see  who 
can  get  to  it  first.    One!  two  !  three!  and  away  I' 

The  boys  set  off  at  full  speed  to  the  willow. 
Bassistoff  rushed  after  them. 

*  What  a  lout ! '  thought  Pandalevsky,  *  he  is 
spoiling  those  boys.     A  perfect  peasant !  * 

And  looking  with  satisfaction  at  his  own  neat 
and  elegant  figure,KonstantinDiomiditch  struck 
his  coat-sleeve  twice  with  his  open  hand,  pulled 
up  his  collar,  and  went  on  his  way.  When  he 
had  reached  his  own  room,  he  put  on  an  old 
dressing-gown  and  sat  down  with  an  anxious 
face  to  the  plana 


19 


II 

Darya  Mihailovna's  house  was  regarded  as 
almost  the  first  in  the  whole  province.  It  was 
a  huge  stone  mansion,  built  after  designs  of 
Rastrelli  in  the  taste  of  last  century,  and  in  a 
commanding  position  on  the  summit  of  a  hill, 
at  whose  base  flowed  one  of  the  principal  rivers 
of  central  Russia.  Darya  Mihailovna  herself 
was  a  wealthy  and  distinguished  lady,  the 
widow  of  a  privy  councillor.  Pandalevsky  said 
of  her,  that  she  knew  all  Europe  and  all  Europe 
knew  her !  However,  Europe  knew  her  very 
little  ;  even  at  Petersburg  she  had  not  played 
a  very  prominent  part ;  but  on  the  other  hand 
at  Moscow  every  one  knew  her  and  visited  her. 
She  belonged  to  the  highest  society,  and  was 
spoken  of  as  a  rather  eccentric  woman,  not 
wholly  good-natured,  but  excessively  clever. 
In  her  youth  she  had  been  very  pretty.  Poets 
20 


RUDIN 

had  written  verses  to  her,  young  men  had  been 
in  love  with  her,  distinguished  men  had  paid 
her  homage.  But  twenty-five  or  thirty  years 
had  passed  since  those  days  and  not  a  trace  of 
her  former  charms  remained.  Every  one  who 
saw  her  now  for  the  first  time  was  impelled  to 
ask  himself,  if  this  woman — skinny,  sharp-nosed, 
and  yellow-faced,  though  still  not  old  in  years — 
could  once  have  been  a  beauty,  if  she  was  really 
the  same  woman  who  had  been  the  inspiration 
of  poets. .  . .  And  every  one  marvelled  inwardly 
at  the  mutability  of  earthly  things.  It  is  true 
that  Pandalevsky  discovered  that  Darya  Mihai- 
lovna  had  preserved  her  magnificent  eyes  in  a 
marvellous  way;  but  we  have  seen  that  Pan- 
dalevsky also  maintained  that  all  Europe 
knew  her. 

Darya  Mihailovna  went  every  summer  to  her 
country  place  with  her  children  (she  had  three  : 
a  daughter  of  seventeen,  Natalya,  and  two  sons 
'of  nine  and  ten  years  old).  She  kept  open 
house  in  the  country,  that  is,  she  received  men, 
especially  unmarried  ones ;  provincial  ladies 
she  could  not  endure.  But  what  of  the  treat- 
ment she  received  from  those  ladies  in  return  ? 

21 


I 


RUDIN 

Darya  Mihailovna,  according  to  them,  was  a 
.haughty,  immoral,  and  insufferable  tyrant,  and 
{above  all — she  permitted  herself  such  liberties 
in  conversation,  it  was  shocking  !  Darya  Mihai- 
lovna certainly  did  not  care  to  stand  on  cere- 
mony in  the  country,  and  in  the  unconstrained 
frankness  of  her  manners  there  was  perceptible 
a  slight  shade  of  the  contempt  of  the  lioness 
of  the  capital  for  the  petty  and  obscure  creatures 
who  surrounded  her.  She  had  a  careless,  and 
even  a  sarcastic  manner  with  her  own  set ; 
but  the  shade  of  contempt  was  not  there. 

By  the  way,  reader,  have  you  observed  that 
a  person  who  is  exceptionally  nonchalant  with 
his  inferiors,  is  never  nonchalant  with  persons 
of  a  higher  rank  ?  Why  is  that  ?  But  such 
questions  lead  to  nothing. 

When  Konstantin  Diomiditch,  having  at  last 
learnt  by  heart  the  etude  of  Thalberg,  went 
down  from  his  bright  and  cheerful  room  to  the 
drawing-room,  he  already  found  the  whole 
household  assembled.  The  salon  was  already 
beginning.  The  lady  of  the  house  was  reposing 
on  a  wide  couch,  her  feet  gathered  up  under 
her,  and  a  new  French  pamphlet  in  her  hand  ; 

22 


RUDIN 

at  the  window  behind  a  tambour  frame,  sat  on 

on^^ule  the  daughter  of  Darya  Mihailovna,  on 
the  other,  Mile.  Boncourt,  the  governess,  a  dry- 
old  maiden  lady  of  sixty,  with  a  false  front  of 
black  curls  under  a  parti-coloured  cap  and 
cotton  wool  in  her  ears  ;  in  the  corner  near  the 
door  was  huddled  Bassistoff  reading  a  paper, 
near  him  were  Petya  and  Vanya  playing 
draughts,  and  leaning  by  the  stove,  his  hands 
clasped  behind  his  back,  was  a  gentleman  of 
low  stature,  with  a  swarthy  face  covered  with 
bristling  grey  hair,  and  fiery  black  eyes — a 
certain  African  Semenitch  Pigasov. 

This  Pigasov  was  a  strange  person.  Full  of 
acerbity  against  everything  and  every  one — 
especially  against  women — he  was  railing  from 
morning  to  night,  sometimes  very  aptly,  some- 
times rather  stupidly,  but  always  with  gusto. 
His  ill-humour  almost  approached  puerility ; 
his  laugh,  the  sound  of  his  voice,  his  whole  being 
seemed  steeped  in  venom.  Darya  Mihailovna 
gave  Pigasov  a  cordial  reception  ;  he  amused 
her  with  his  sallies.  They  were  certainly  absurd 
enough.  He  took  delight  in  perpetual  exaggera- 
tion. For  example,  if  he  were  told  of  any 
23 


RUDIN 

disaster,  that  a  villa^^e  had  been  struck  by 
h'ghtning,  or  that  a  mill  had  been  carried  away 
by  floods,  or  that  a  peasant  had  cut  his  hand 
with  an  axe,  he  invariably  asked  with  concen- 
trated bitterness,  '  And  what 's  her  name  ? ' 
meaning,  what  is  the  name  of  the  woman 
responsible  for  this  calamity,  for  according  to 
his  convictions,  a  woman  was  the  causejof  every 
misfortune,  if  you  only  looked  deep  enough 
into  the  matter.  He  once  threw  himself  on  his 
knees  before  a  lady  he  hardly  knew  at  all,  who 
had  been  effusive  in  her  hospitality  to  him  and 
began  tearfully,  but  with  wrath  written  on  his 
face,  to  entreat  her  to  have  compassion  on  him, 
saying  that  he  had  done  her  no  harm  and  never 
would  come  to  see  her  for  the  future.  Once  a 
horse  had  bolted  with  one  of  Darya  Mihailovna's 
maids,  thrown  her  into  a  ditch  and  almost  killed 
her.  From  that  time  Pigasov  never  spoke  of 
that  horse  except  as  the  'good,  good  horse/ 
and  he  even  came  to  regard  the  hill  and  the 
ditch  as  specially  picturesque  spots.  Pigasov 
had  failed  in  life  and  had  adopted  this  whimsical 
craze.  He  came  of  poor  parents.  His  father 
had  filled  various  petty  posts,  and  could  scarcely 
24 


RUDIN 

read  and  write,  and  did  not  trouble  himself 
about  his  son's  education ;  he  fed  and  clothed 
him  and  nothing  more.  His  mother  spoiled 
him,  but  she  died  early.  Pigasov  educated 
himself,  sent  himself  to  the  district  school  and 
then  to  the  gymnasium,  taught  himself  French, 
German,  and  even  Latin,  and,  leaving  the  gym- 
nasiums with  an  excellent  certificate,  went  to 
Dorpat,  where  he  maintained  a  perpetual 
struggle  with  poverty,  but  succeeded  in  com- 
pleting his  three  years'  course.  Pigasov 's 
abilities  did  not  rise  above  the  level  of  medio- 
crity; patience  and  perseverance  were  his  strong 
points,  but  the  most  powerful  sentiment  in 
him  was  ambition,  the  desire  to  get  into  good 
society,  not  to  be  inferior  to  others  in  spite 
of  fortune.  He  had  studied  diligently  and 
gone  to  the  Dorpat  University  from  ambition. 
Poverty  exasperated  him,  and  made  him 
watchful  and  cunning.  He  expressed  himself 
with  originality  ;  from  his  youth  he  had 
adopted  a  special  kind  of  stinging  and  exas- 
perated eloquence.  His  ideas  did  not  rise 
above  the  common  level ;  but  his  way  of  speak- 
ing made  him  seem  not  only  a  clever,  but  even 
25 


RUDIN 

a  very  clever,  man.  Having  taken  his  degree  as 
candidate,  Pigasov  decided  to  devote  himself 
to  the  scholastic  profession  ;  he  understood  that 
in  any  other  career  he  could  not  possibly  be  the 
equal  of  his  associates.  He  tried  to  select  them 
from  a  higher  rank  and  knew  how  to  gain  their 
good  graces  ;  even  by  flattery,  though  he  was 
always  abusing  them.  But  to  do  this  he  had 
not,  to  speak  plainly,  enough  raw  material. 
Having  educated  himself  through  no  love  for 
study,  Pigasov  knew  very  little  thoroughly. 
He  broke  down  miserably  in  the  public  disputa- 
tion, while  another  student  who  had  shared  the 
same  room  with  him,  and  who  was  constantly 
the  subject  of  his  ridicule,  a  man  of  very  limited 
ability  who  had  received  a  careful  and  solid 
education,  gained  a  complete  triumph.  Pigasov 
was  infuriated  by  this  failure,  he  threw  all  his 
books  and  manuscripts  into  the  fire  and  went 
into  a  government  office.  At  first  he  did  not 
get  on  badly,  he  made  a  fair  official,  not  very 
active,  extremely  self-confident  and  bold,  how- 
ever ;  but  he  wanted  to  make  his  way  more 
quickly,  he  made  a  false  step,  got  into  trouble, 
and  was  obliged  to  retire  from  the  service.  He 
26 


RUDIN 

spent  three  years  on  the  property  he  had  bought 
himself  and  suddenly  married  a  wealthy  half- 
educated  woman  who  was  captivated  by  his 
unceremonious  and  sarcastic  manners.  But 
Pigasov's  character  had  become  so  soured  and 
irritable  that  family  life  was  unendurable  to 
him.  After  living  with  him  a  few  years,  his 
wife  went  off  secretly  to  Moscow  and  sold  her 
estate  to  an  enterprising  speculator ;  Pigasov 
had  only  just  finished  building  a  house  on  it. 
Utterly  crushed  by  this  last  blow,  Pigasov 
began  a  lawsuit  with  his  wife,  but  gained  nothing 
by  it  After  this  he  lived  in  solitude,  and 
went  to  see  his  neighbours,  whom  he  abused 
behind  their  backs  and  even  to  their  faces,  and 
who  welcomed  him  with  a  kind  of  constrained 
half-laugh,  though  he  did  not  inspire  them  with 
any  serious  dread.  He  never  took  a  book  in 
his  hand.  He  had  about  a  hundred  serfs  ;  his 
peasants  were  not  badly  off. 

'  Ah  !  Constantin  ! '  said  Darya  Mihailovna, 
when  Pandalevsky  came  into  the  drawing- 
room,  *  is  Alexandrine  coming  ? ' 

'  Alexandra  Pavlovna  asked  me  to  thank  you, 
and  they  will  be  extremely  delighted,'  replied 
27 


RUDIN 

Konstantin  Diomiditch,  bowing  affably  in  all 
directions,  and  running  his  plump  white  hand 
with  its  triangular  cut  nails  through  his  fault- 
lessly arranged  hair. 

*  And  is  Volintsev  coming  too  ? ' 
'  Yes.' 

*  So,  according  to  you,  African  Semenitch/ 
continued  Darya  Mihailovna,  turning  to  Pigasov, 
'  all  young  ladies  are  affected  ? ' 

Pigasov's  mouth  twitched,  and  he  plucked 
nervously  at  his  elbow. 

*  I  say,'  he  began  in  a  measured  voice — in  his 
most  violent  moods  of  exasperation  he  always 
spoke  slowly  and  precisely.  '  I  say  that  young 
ladies,  in  general  —  of  present  company,  of 
course,  I  say  nothing.' 

*  But  that  does  not  prevent  your  thinking  of 
them,'  put  in  Darya  Mihailovna. 

*  I  say  nothing  of  them,'  repeated  Pigasov. 
'  All  young  ladies,  in  general,  are  affected  to 
the  most  extreme  point — affected  in  the  ex- 
pression of  their  feelings.  If  a  young  lady  is 
frightened,  for  instance,  or  pleased  with  any- 
thing, or  distressed,  she  is  certain  first  to  throw 
her  person  into  some  such  elegant  attitude  (and 

28 


RUDIN 

Pigasov  threw  his  figure  into  an  unbecoming  pose 
and  spread  out  his  hands)  and  then  she  shrieks 
— ah !  or  she  laughs  or  cries.  I  did  once 
though  (and  here  Pigasov  smiled  complacently) 
succeed  in  eliciting  a  genuine,  unaffected  ex- 
pression of  emotion  from  a  remarkably  affected 
young  lady !' 

*  How  did  you  do  that  ? ' 
Pigasov's  eyes  sparkled. 

*  I  poked  her  in  the  side  with  an  aspen  stake, 
from  behind.  She  did  shriek,  and  I  said  to  her, 
"  Bravo,  bravo  !  that 's  the  voice  of  nature,  that 
was  a  genuine  shriek  I  Always  do  like  that  for 
the  future ! "  * 

Every  one  in  the  room  laughed. 

*What  nonsense  you  talk,  African  Semenitch/ 
cried  Darya  Mihailovna.  *  Am  I  to  believe  that 
you  would  poke  a  girl  in  the  side  with  a  stake ! ' 

*  Yes,  indeed,  with  a  stake,  a  very  big  stake, 
like  those  that  are  used  in  the  defence  of  a  fort' 

*  Mais  dest  un  horreur  ce  que  vous  dites  Id, 
Monsieur*  cried  Mile.  Boncourt,  looking  angrily 
at  the  boys,  who  were  in  fits  of  laughter. 

'Oh,  you   mustn't  believe  him,'  said  Darya 
Mihailovna.     *  Don't  you  know  him  ? ' 
29 


RUDIN 

But  the  offended  French  lady  could  not  be 
pacified  for  a  long  while,  and  kept  muttering 
something  to  herself. 

*  You  need  not  believe  me/  continued  Pigasov 
coolly, '  but  I  assure  you  I  told  the  simple  truth. 
Who  should  know  if  not  I  ?  After  that  perhaps 
you  won't  believe  that  our  neighbour,  Madame 
Tchepuz,  Elena  Antonovna,  told  me  herself, 
mind  herself^  that  she  had  murdered  her 
nephew  ? ' 

^  What  an  invention  !  * 

*Wait  a  minute,  wait  a  minute!  Listen  and 
judge  for  yourselves.  Mind,  I  don't  want  to 
slander  her,  1  even  like  her  as  far  as  one  can 
like  a  woman.  She  hasn't  a  single  book  in  her 
house  except  a  calendar,  and  she  can't  read 
except  aloud,  and  that  exercise  throws  her  into 
a  violent  perspiration,  and  she  complains  then 
that  her  eyes  feel  bursting  out  of  her  head.  .  .  . 
In  short,  she  's  a  capital  woman,  and  her  servant 
girls  grow  fat.     Why  should  I  slander  her  ?  ' 

*  You  see,'  observed  Darya  Mihailovna, 
'African  Semenitch  has  got  on  his  hobby- 
horse, now  he  will  not  be  off  it  to-night' 

'  My  hobby !    But  women  have  three  at  least, 


RUDIN 

v,bich  they  are  never  off,  except,  perhaps,  when 
they  're  asleep.' 

*  What  three  hobbies  are  those  ?  * 

'  Reproof,  reproach,  recrimination/ 

*  Do  you  know,  African  Semenitch,*  began 
Darya  Mihailovna,  'you  cannot  be  so  bitter 
against  women  for  nothing.  Some  woman  or 
other  must  have ' 

'Done  me  an  injury,  you  mean.?'  Pigasov 
interrupted. 

Darya  Mihailovna  was  rather  embarrassed  ; 
she  remembered  Pigasov's  unlucky  marriage, 
and  only  nodded. 

*  One  woman  certainly  did  me  an  injury,* 
said  Pigasov,  *  though  she  was  a  good,  very 
good  one.' 

*  Who  was  that?* 

*  My  mother,'  said  Pigasov,  dropping  his  voice. 
'Your  mother?     What  injury  could  she  have 

done  you  ? ' 

*  She  brought  me  into  the  world.' 
Darya  Mihailovna  frowned. 

*  Our  conversation,'  she  said, '  seems  to  have 
taken  a  gloomy  turn.  Constantin,  play  us 
Thalberg's  new  /tude.    I  daresay  the  music  will 

31 


RUDIN 

soothe  African  Semen  itch.  Orpheus  soothed 
savage  beasts.* 

Konstantin  Diomiditch  took  his  seat  at  the 
piano,  and  played  the  Hude  very  fairly  well. 
Natalya  Alexyevna  at  first  listened  attentively, 
then  she  bent  over  her  work  again. 

^  Merci^  c^est  charmantl  observed  Darya 
Mihailovna,  *  I  love  Thalberg.  II  est  si  distingue. 
What  are  you  thinking  of,  African  Semenitch  ? ' 

*  I  thought,'  began  African  Semenitch  slowly, 
*  that  there  are  three  kinds  of  egoists  ;  the 
egoists  who  live  themselves  and  let  others  live ; 
the  egoists  who  live  themselves  and  don't  let 
others  live  ;  and  the  egoists  who  don't  live 
themselves  and  don't  let  others  live.  Women, 
for  the  most  part,  belong  to  the  third  class.* 

*  That 's  polite  1  I  am  very  much  astonished  at 
one  thing,  African  Semenitch  ;  your  confidence 
in  your  convictions  ;  of  course  you  can  never  be 
mistaken.' 

'Who  says  so?  I  make  mistakes;  a  man, 
too,  may  be  mistaken.  But  do  you  know  the 
difference  between  a  man's  mistakes  and  a 
woman's  ?  Don't  you  know }  Well,  here  it  is  ; 
a  man  may  say,  for  example,  that  twice  two 


I 


RUDIN 

makes  not  four,  but  five,  or  three  and  a  half; 
but  a  woman  will  say  that  twice  two  makes  a 
wax  candle/ 

'  I  fancy  I  Ve  heard  you  say  that  before.  But 
allow  me  to  ask  what  connection  had  your  idea 
of  the  three  kinds  of  egoists  with  the  music  you 
have  just  been  hearing  ?  * 

*  None  at  all,  but  I  did  not  listen  to  the  music* 
'  Well,  "  incurable  I  see  you  are,  and  that  is  all 

about  it," '  answered  Darya  Mihailovna,  slightly 
altering  Griboyedov's  line.  '  What  do  you  like, 
since  you  don't  care  for  music  ?     Literature  ? ' 

*  I  like  literature,  only  not  our  contemporary 
literature/ 

'Why?' 

'  I  '11  tell  you  why.  I  crossed  the  Oka  lately 
in  a  ferry  boat  with  a  gentleman.  The  ferry 
got  fixed  in  a  narrow  place ;  they  had  to  drag 
the  carriages  ashore  by  hand.  This  gentleman 
had  a  very  heavy  coach.  While  the  ferrymen 
were  straining  themselves  to  drag  the  coach  on  to 
the  bank,  the  gentleman  groaned  so,  standing  in 
the  ferry,  that  one  felt  quite  sorry  for  him.  .  .  . 
Well,  I  thought,  here 's  a  fresh  illustration  of  the 
system  of  division  of  labour  1  That 's  just  like 
33  с 


RUDIN 

Lour  modern   literature ;    other   people   do  the 
work,  and  it  does  the  groaning.' 
Darya  Mihailovna  smiled. 

*  And  that  is  called  expressing  contemporary 
life/  continued  Pigasov  indefatigably,  '  pro- 
found sympathy  with  the  social  question  and 
so  on.  .  .  .  Oh,  how  I  hate  those  grand  words ! ' 

*  Well,  the  women  you  attack  so — they  at 
least  don't  use  grand  words.' 

Pigasov  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

'They  don't  use  them  because  they  don't 
understand  them.* 

Darya  Mihailovna  flushed  slightly. 

'  You  are  beginning  to  be  impertinent,  African 
Semenitch  ! '  she  remarked  with  a  forced  smile. 

There  was  complete  stillness  in  the  room. 

*  Where  is  Zolotonosha  ? '  asked  one  of  the 
boys  suddenly  of  Bassistoff. 

'  In  the  province  of  Poltava,  my  dear  boy,' 
replied  Pigasov,  *  in  the  centre  of  Little  Russia. 
(He  was  glad  of  an  opportunity  of  changing 
the  conversation.)  '  We  were  talking  of  litera- 
ture,' he  continued,  '  if  I  had  money  to  spare, 
I  would  at  once  become  a  Little  Russian 
poet' 

34 


RUDIN 

'  What  next  ?  a  fine  poet  you  would  make ! ' 
retorted  Darya  Mihailovna.  '  Do  you  know 
Little  Russian  ? ' 

*  Not  a  bit ;  but  it  isn't  necessary.' 

*  Not  necessary  ? ' 

*  Oh  no,  it 's  not  necessary.  You  need  only 
take  a  sheet  of  paper  and  write  at  the  top  "  A 
Ballad,"  then  begin  like  this,  "Heigho,  alack,  my 
destiny  !"  or  "  the  Cossack  Nalivaiko  was  sitting 
on  a  hill  and  then  on  the  mountain,  under  the 
green  tree  the  birds  are  singing,  grae,  voropae, 
gop,  gop  ! "  or  something  of  that  kind.  And 
the  thing 's  done.  Print  it  and  publish  it.  The 
Little  Russian  will  read  it,  drop  his  head  into  his 
hands  and  infallibly  burst  into  tears — he  is 
such  a  sensitive  soul ! ' 

'  Good  heavens  ! '  cried  Bassistoff.  *  What 
are  you  saying  ?  It 's  too  absurd  for  anything. 
I  have  lived  in  Little  Russia,  I  love  it  and  know 
the  language  .  .  .  "grae,  grae,  voropae"  is  abso- 
lute nonsense.' 

*  It  may  be,  but  the  Little  Russian  will  weep 
all  the  same.  You  speak  of  the  "  language." 
.  .  .  But  is  there  a  Little  Russian  language  ?  Is 
it  a  language,  in  your  opinion  ?   an  independent 

35 


RUDIN 

language  ?     I  would  pound  my  best  friend  in  a 
mortar  before  I  'd  agree  to  that.' 
Bassistoft"  was  about  to  retort. 

*  Leave  him  alone/  said  Darya  Mihailovna, 
*you  know  that  you  will  hear  nothing  but 
paradoxes  from  him.' 

Pigasov  smiled  ironically.  A  footman  came 
in  and  announced  the  arrival  of  Alexandra 
Pavlovna  and  her  brother. 

Darya  Mihailovna  rose  to  meet  her  guests. 

*  How  do  you  do,  Alexandrine}'  she  began, 
going  up  to  her, '  how  good  of  you  to  come !  . . . 
How  are  you,  Sergef  Pavlitch  ? ' 

Volintsev  shook  hands  with  Darya  Mihai- 
lovna and  went  up  to  Natalya  Alexyevna. 

*  But  how  about  that  baron,  your  new 
acquaintance,  is  he  coming  to-day  ? '  asked 
Pigasov. 

'  Yes,  he  is  coming.' 

*  He  is  a  great  philosopher,  they  say  ;  he  is 
just  brimming  over  with  Hegel,  I  suppose  ? ' 

Darya  Mihailovna  made  no  reply,  and 
making  Alexandra  Pavlovna  sit  down  on  the 
sofa,  established  herself  near  her. 

*  Philosophy,'  continued    Pigasov,  *  elevated 


RUDIN 

points  of  view !  That  's  another  abomination 
of  mine ;  these  elevated  points  of  view.  And 
what  can  one  see  from  above  ?  Upon  my  soul, 
if  you  want  to  buy  a  horse,  you  don't  look  at  it 
from  a  steeple  ! ' 

'This  baron  was  going  to  bring  you  an 
essay?'  said  Alexandra  Pavlovna. 

'Yes,  an  essay,'  replied  Darya  Mihailovna, 
with  exaggerated  carelessness,  *  on  the  relation 
ofcommerce  to  manufactures  in  Russia.  .  .  .  But 
don't  be  afraid ;  we  will  not  read  it  here.  ...  I  did 
not  invite  you  for  that.  Le  barofi  est  aussi  aimable 
que  savant.  And  he  speaks  Russian  beautifully ! 
С  est  un  vrai  torre?tt  .  .  ,  il  vous  eniraine,^ 

'  He  speaks  Russian  so  beautifully,'  grumbled 
Pigasov,  'that  he  deserves  a  eulogy  in  French.' 

'  You  may  grumble  as  you  please,  African 
Semenitch.  .  .  .  It's  in  keeping  with  your 
ruffled  locks.  ...  I  wonder,  though,  why  he 
does  not  come.  Do  you  know  what,  messieurs 
et  mesdameSy  added  Darya  Mihailovna,  look- 
ing round,  '  we  will  go  into  the  garden.  There 
is  still  nearly  an  hour  to  dinner-time  and 
the  weather  is  glorious.' 

All  the  company  rose  and  went  intothegarden. 
37 


RUDIN 

Darya  Mihailovna's  garden  stretched  right 
down  to  the  river.  There  were  many  alleys  of 
old  lime-trees  in  it,  full  of  sunlight  and  shade 
and  fragrance  and  glimpses  of  emerald  green  at 
the  ends  of  the  walks,  and  many  arbours  of 
acacias  and  lilacs. 

Volintsev  turned  into  the  thickest  part  of 
the  garden  with  Natalya  and  Mile.  Boncourt. 
He  walked  beside  Natalya  in  silence.  Mile. 
Boncourt  followed  a  little  behind. 

*  What  have  you  been  doing  to-day  ? '  asked 
Volintsev  at  last,  pulling  the  ends  of  his  hand- 
some dark  brown  moustache. 

In  features  he  resembled  his  sister  strikingly  ; 
but  there  was  less  movement  and  life  in  his 
expression,  and  his  soft  beautiful  eyes  had  a 
melancholy  look.^ 

*  Oh  l^^nit)tMfrg,'  answered  Natalya,  *I  have 
been  listening  to  Pigasov's  sarcasms,  I  have 
done  some  embroidery  on  canvas,  and  I  've  been 
reading.' 

*  And  what  have  you  been  reading  ? ' 

*  Oh !  I  read — a  history  of  the  Crusades,'  said 
Natalya,  with  some  hesitation, 

Volintsev  looked  at  her. 
38 


RUDIN 

*  Ah ! '  he  ejaculated  at  last,  *  that  must  be 
interesting.' 

He  picked  a  twig  and  began  to  twirl  it  in 
the  air.     They  walked  another  twenty  paces. 

*  What  is  this  baron  whom  your  mother  has 
made  acquaintance  with  ? '  began  Volintsev 
again. 

'  A  Gentleman  of  the  Bedchamber,  a  new 
arrival ;  maman  speaks  very  highly  of  him.' 

*Your  mother  is  quick  to  take  fancies  to 
people.' 

*That  shows  that  her  heart  is  still  young/ 
observed  Natalya. 

'Yes.  I  shall  soon  bring  you  your  mare. 
She  is  almost  quite  broken  in  now.  I  want  to 
teach  her  to  gallop,  and  I  shall  manage  it  soon.' 

*  Merci  f  ,  .  .  But  1  'm  quite  ashamed.  You 
are  breaking  her  in  yourself  .  .  .  and  they  say 
it 's  so  hard  ! ' 

*  To  give  you  the  least  pleasure,  you  know, 
Natalya  Alexyevna,  I  am  ready  .  ,  .  I  .  .  .  not 
in  such  trifles ' 

Volintsev  grew  confused. 
Natalya  looked  at  him  with  friendly  encour- 
agement, and  again  said  'merci' 
39 


RUDIN 

'You  know/  continued  SergeX  Pavlitch  after 
a  long  pause,  'that  not  such  things.  .  .  .  But 
why  am  I  saying  this  ?  you  know  everything, 
of  course.' 

At  that  instant  a  bell  rang  in  the  house. 

*Ah!  ia  cloche  du  diner  Г  cried  Mile.  Boncourt, 
'  rentrons! 

'  Quel  dommagey  thought  the  old  French  lady 
to  herself  as  she  mounted  the  balcony  steps 
behind  Volintsev  and  Natalya,  '  quel  dommage 
que  ce  charmant  garqon  ait  si  peu  de  ressources 
dans  la  conversatiofil  which  may  be  translated, 
*  you  are  a  good  fellow,  my  dear  boy,  but  rather 
a  fool.' 

The  baron  did  not  arrive  to  dinner.  They 
waited  half-an-hour  for  him.  Conversation 
flagged  at  the  table.  SergeY  Pavlitch  did  no- 
thing but  gaze  at  Natalya,  near  whom  he  was 
sitting,  and  zealously  filled  up  her  glass  with 
water.  Pandalevsky  tried  in  vain  to  entertain 
his  neighbour,  Alexandra  Pavlovna ;  he  was 
bubbling  over  with  sweetness,  but  she  hardly 
refrained  from  yawning. 

Bassistoff  was  rolling  up  pellets  of  bread  and 
thinking  of  nothing  at  all ;  even  Pigasov  was 
40 


RUDIN 

silent,  and  when  Darya  Mihailovna  remarked 
to  him  that  he  had  not  been  very  polite  to-day, 
he  replied  crossly,  *  When  am  I  polite  ?  that 's 
not  in  my  line  ;'  and  smiling  grimly  he  added, 
*have  a  little  patience;  I  am  only  kvas,  you 
know,  du  simple  Russian  kvas;  but  your  Gentle- 
man of  the  Bedchamber ' 

'  Bravo  ! '  cried  Darya  Mihailovna,  '  Pigasov 
is  jealous,  he  is  jealous  already ! ' 

But  Pigasov  made  her  no  rejoinder,  and  only 
gave  her  a  rather  cross  look. 

Seven  o'clock  struck,  and  they  were  all 
assembled  again  in  the  drawing-room. 

'  He  is  not  coming,  clearly,'  said  Darya 
Mihailovna. 

But,  behold,  the  rumble  x>f  a  carriage  was 
heard :  a  small  tarantass  drove  into  the  court, 
and  a  few  instants  later  a  footman  entered  the 
drawing-room  and  gave  Darya  Mihailovna  a 
note  on  a  silver  salver.  She  glanced  through 
it,  and  turning  to  the  footman  asked : 

'  But  where  is  the  gentleman  who  brought 
this  letter  ? ' 

'  He  is  sitting  in  the  carriage.  Shall  I  ask 
him  to  come  up?' 

41 


RUDIN 

'  Ask  him  to  do  so/ 

The  man  went  out. 

*  Fancy,  how  vexatious  ! '  continued  Darya 
Mihailovna,  *  the  baron  has  received  a  summons 
to  return  at  once  to  Petersburg.  He  has  sent 
me  his  essay  by  a  certain  Mr.  Rudin,  a  friend 
of  his.  The  baron  wanted  to  introduce  him  to 
me — he  speaks  very  highly  of  him.  But  how 
vexatious  it  is !  I  had  hoped  the  baron  would 
stay  here  for  some  time.' 

'  Dmitri  Nikolaitch  Rudin,'  announced  the 
servant 


42 


И! 

А  MAN  of  about  thirty-five  entered,  of  a  tall, 
somewhat  stooping  figure,  with  crisp  curly  hair 
andswarthycomplexion,anirregularbutexpres- 
sive  and  intelligent  face,  a  liquid  brilliance  in 
his  quick,  dark  blue  eyes,  a  straight,  broad  nose, 
and  well-curved  lips.  His  clothes  were  not  new, 
and  were  somewhat  small,  as  though  he  had 
outgrown  them. 

He  walked  quickly  up  to  Darya  Mihailovna, 
and  with  a  slight  bow  told  her  that  he  had  long 
wished  to  have  the  honour  of  an  introduction 
to  her,  and  that  his  friend  the  baron  greatly 
regretted  that  he  could  not  take  leave  of  her  in 
person. 

The  thin  sound  of  Rudin's  voice  seemed 
out  of  keeping  with  his  tall  figure  and  broad 
chest. 

'Pray  be  seated  .  .  .  very  delighted/  mur- 
43 


RUDIN 

mured  Darya  Mihailovna,  and,  after  introducing 
him  to  the  rest  of  the  company,  she  asked  him 
whether  he  belonged  to  those  parts  or  was  a 
visitor. 

*  My  estate  is  in  the  T province,'  replied 

Rudin,  holding  his  hat  on  his  knees.  *  I  have 
not  been  here  long.  I  came  on  business  and 
stayed  for  a  while  in  your  district  town/ 

*  With  whom  ? ' 

*  With  the  doctor.  He  was  an  old  chum  of 
mine  at  the  university.* 

*  Ah !  the  doctor.  He  is  highly  spoken  of. 
He  is  skilful  in  his  work,  they  say.  But  have 
you  known  the  baron  long  ? ' 

'  I  met  him  last  winter  in  Moscow,  and  I  have 
just  been  spending  about  a  week  with  him.' 

*  He  is  a  very  clever  man,  the  baron.* 

*  Yes.' 

Darya  Mihailovna  sniffed  at  her  little  crushed- 
up  handkerchief  steeped  in  eau  de  cologne. 

'Are  you  in  the  government  service?*  she 
asked. 

'Who?     I?* 

'  Yes.' 

*  No.     I  have  retired.* 

44 


RITDTN 

There  followed  a  brief  pause.  The  general 
conversation  was  resumed. 

*  If  you  will  allow  me  to  be  inquisitive,'  began 
Pigasov,  turning  to  Rudin,  '  do  you  know  the 
contents  of  the  essay  which  his  excellency  the 
baron  has  sent  ?  ' 

*  Yes,  I  do.' 

'  This  essay  deals  with  the  relations  to  com- 
merce— or  no,  of  manufactures  to  commerce  in 
our  country.  .  .  .  That  was  your  expression,  I 
think,  Darya  Mihailovna  ? ' 

*  Yes,  it  deals  with '  .  .  .  began  Darya  Mihai- 
lovna, pressing  her  hand  to  her  forehead. 

'  I  am,  of  course,  a  poor  judge  of  such  matters,' 
continued  Pigasov,  '  but  I  must  confess  that  to 
me  even  the  title  of  the  essay  seems  excessively 
(how  could  I  put  it  delicately?)  excessively 
obscure  and  complicated.' 

'  Why  does  it  seem  so  to  you  ? ' 

Pigasov  smiled  and  looked  across  at  Darya 
Mihailovna. 

'  Why,  is  it  clear  to  you  ? '  he  said,  turning 
his  foxy  face  again  towards  Rudin. 

*To  me?     Yes.' 

*  H'm.     No  doubt  you  must  know  better.' 

45 


RUDIN 

*  Does  your  head  ache  ? '  Alexandra  Pavlovna 
inquired  of  Darya  Mihailovna. 

*  No.    It  is  only  my — c'est  nerveux! 

*  Allow  me  to  inquire/  Pigasov  was  beginning 
again  in  his  nasal  tones,  'your  friend,  his 
excellency  Baron  Mufifel — I  think  that's  his 
name?' 

*  Precisely.' 

*  Does  his  excellency  Baron  Mufifel  make  a 
special  study  of  political  economy,  or  does  he 
only  devote  to  that  interesting  subject  the  hours 
of  leisure  left  over  from  his  social  amusements 
and  his  official  duties  ? ' 

Rudin  looked  steadily  at  Pigasov. 

'The  baron  is  an  amateur  on  this  subject,' 
he  replied,  growing  rather  red,  '  but  in  his  essay 
there  is  much  that  is  interesting  and  just.' 

*  I  am  not  able  to  dispute  it  with  you  ;  I  have 
not  read  the  essay.  But  I  venture  to  ask — the 
work  of  your  friend  Baron  Muffel  is  no  doubt 
founded  more  upon  general  propositions  than 
upon  facts  ? ' 

'  It  contains  both  facts  and  propositions 
founded  upon  the  facts.' 

*  Yes,  yes.    I  must  tell  you  that,  in  my  opinion 

46 


RUDIN 

*  How  do  you  say  that  there  are  none  then  ? 
Here  you  have  one  at  the  very  first  turn.' 

All  in  the  room  smiled  and  looked  at  one 
another. 

*  One  minute,  one  minute,  but ,    Pigasov 

was  beginning. 

But  Darya  Mihailovna  clapped  her  hands 
crying,  '  Bravo,  bravo,  Pigasov 's  beaten  ! '  and 
she  gently  took  Rudin's  hat  from  his  hand. 

*  Defer  your  delight  a  little,  madam  ;  there 's 
plenty  of  time  ! '  Pigasov  began  with  annoyance. 
'  It 's  not  sufficient  to  say  a  witty  word,  with  a 
show  of  superiority ;  you  must  prove,  refute.  We 
had  wandered  from  the  subjectof  our  discussion.' 

'With  your  permission,'  remarked  Rudin, 
coolly,  *  the  matter  is  very  simple.  You  do  not 
believe  in  the  value  of  general  propositions — 
you  do  not  believe  in  convictions? ' 

*  I  don't  believe  in  them,  I  don't  believe  in 
anything ! ' 

*  Very  good.     You  are  a  sceptic' 

'  I  see  no  necessity  for  using  such  a  learned 
word.     However ' 

'  Don't  interrupt ! '  interposed  Darya  Mihai- 
lovna. 

48 


RUDIN 

— and  I  Ve  a  right  to  give  my  opinion,  on 
occasion  ;  I  spent  three  years  at  Dorpat  .  .  . 
all  these,  so-called  general  propositions,  hypo- 
theses, these  systems — excuse  me,  I  am  a  pro- 
vincial, I  speak  the  truth  bluntly — are  absolutely 
worthless.  All  that's  only  theorising — only 
good  for  misleading  people.  Give  us  facts,  sir, 
and  that 's  enough  ! ' 

*  Really  1 '  retorted  Rudin,  '  why,  but  ought 
not  one  to  give  the  significance  of  the 
facts  > ' 

*  General  propositions,*  continued  Pigasov, 
*  they 're  my  abomination,  these  general  pro- 
positions, theories,  conclusions.  All  that 's  based 
on  so-called  convictions  ;  every  one  is  talking 
about  his  convictions,  and  attaches  importance 
to  them,  prides  himself  on  them.     Ah  ! ' 

And  Pigasov  shook  his  fist  in  the  air. 
Pandalevsky  laughed. 

*  Capital!'  put  in  Rudin,  4t  follows  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  conviction  according 
to  you  ? ' 

*  No,  it  doesn't  exist.' 

*  Is  that  your  conviction  ? ' 
*Yes.' 

47 


RUDIN 

*At  him,  good  dog!'  Pandalevsky  said  to 
himself  at  the  same  instant,  and  smiled  all  over. 

'  That  word  expresses  my  meaning,'  pursued 
Rudin.  *  You  understand  it ;  why  not  make 
use  of  it  ?  You  don't  believe  in  anything.  Why 
do  you  believe  in  facts  ? ' 

*Why?  That's  good!  Facts  are  matters  of 
experience,  every  one  knows  what  facts  are. 
I  judge  of  them  by  experience,  by  my  own 
senses.' 

*  But  may  not  your  senses  deceive  you  ?  Your 
senses  tell  you  that  the  sun  goes  round  the 
earth,  .  .  .  but  perhaps  you  don't  agree  with 
Copernicus  ?     You  don't  even  believe  in  him  ? ' 

Again  a  smile  passed  over  every  one's  face, 
and  all  eyes  were  fastened  on  Rudin.  '  He 's 
by  no  means  a  fool,'  every  one  was  thinking. 

'You  are  pleased  to  keep  on  joking,'  said 
Pigasov.  *  Of  course  that 's  very  original,  but 
it's  not  to  the  point.' 

'  In  what  I  have  said  hitherto,'  rejoined 
Rudin,  *  there  is,  unfortunately,  too  little  that 's 
original.  All  that  has  been  well  known  a  very 
long  time,  and  has  been  said  a  thousand  times. 
That  is  not  the  pith  of  the  matter.' 

49  D 


RUDIN 

*  What  is  then  ? '  asked  Pigasov,  not  without 
insolence. 

In  discussions  he  always  first  bantered  his 
opponent,  then  grew  cross,  and  finally  sulked 
and  was  silent. 

*  Here  it  is,'  continued  Rudin.  *  I  cannot  help, 
I  own,  feeling  sincere  regret  when  I  hear  sensible 
people  attack ' 

*  Systems  ? '  interposed  Pigasov. 

'  Yes,  with  your  leave,  even  systems.  What 
frightens  you  so  much  in  that  word  ?  Every 
system  is  founded  on  a  knowledge  of  funda- 
mental laws,  the  principles  of  life ■  * 

*  But  there  is  no  knowing  them,  no  discovering 
them.' 

*  One  minute.  Doubtless  they  are  not  easy 
for  every  one  to  get  at,  and  to  make  mistakes 
is  natural  to  man.  However,  you  will  certainly 
agree  with  me  that  Newton,  for  example,  dis- 
covered some  at  least  of  these  fundamental 
laws?  He  was  a  genius,  we  grant  you  ;  but  the 
grandeur  of  the  discoveries  of  genius  is  that, 
they  become  the  heritage  of  all.  The  effort 
to  discover  universal  principles  in  the  multi- 
plicity of  phenomena  is  one  of  the  radical  char- 


RUDIN 

acteristics  of  human  thought,  and  all  our  civili- 
sation   ' 

*  That 's  what  you  're  driving  at ! '  Pigasov 
broke  in,  in  a  drawling  tone.  *  I  am  a^  practical 
man,  and  all  these  metaphysical  subtleties  I 
don't  enter  into  and  don't  want  to  enter  into/ 

*  Very  good  !  That 's  as  you  prefer.  But 
take  note  that  your  very  desire  to  be  exclu- 
sively a  practical  man  is  itself  your  sort  of  system 
— your  theory.' 

'  Civilisation  you  talk  about ! '  blurted  in 
Pigasov;  *  that's  another  admirable  notion  of 
yours  !  Much  use  in  it,  this  vaunted  civilisa- 
tion !  I  would  not  give  a  brass  farthing  for 
your  civilisation  ! ' 

*But  what  a  poor  sort  of  argument,  African 
Semenitch  ! '  observed  Darya  Mihailovna,  in- 
wardly much  pleased  by  the  calmness  and 
perfect  good-breeding  of  her  new  acquaintance. 
'  Cest  un  homme  coimne  il  faut,'  she  thought, 
looking  with  well-disposed  scrutiny  at  Rudin  ; 
*we  must  be  nice  to  him.'  Those  last  words 
she  mentally  pronounced  in  Russian. 

*  I  will  not  champion  civilisation,'  continued 
Rudin  after  a   short  pause,  4t  does  not  need 

51 


RUDIN 

my  championship.  You  don't  like  it,  every  one 
to  his  own  taste.  Besides,  that  would  take  us  too 
far.  Allow  me  only  to  remind  you  of  the  old 
saying,  "  Jupiter,  you  are  angry  ;  therefore  you 
are  in  the  wrong."  I  meant  to  say  that  all  those 
onslaughts  upon  systems — general  propositions 
— are  especially  distressing,  because  together 
with  these  systems  men  repudiate  knowledge  in 
general,  and  all  science  and  faith  in  it,  and  con- 
sequently also  faith  in  themselves,  in  their  own 
powers.  '  But  this  faith  is  essential  to  men  ; 
they  cannot  exist  by  their  sensations  alone, 
they  are  wrong  to  fear  ideas  and  not  to  trust 
in  them.  Scepticism  is  always  characterised 
by  barrenness  and  impotence.' 

*  That 's  all  words ! '  muttered  Pigasov. 

*  Perhaps  so.  But  allow  me  to  point  out  to  you 
that  when  we  say  "  that 's  all  words  !  "  we  often 
wish  ourselves  to  avoid  the  necessity  of  saying 
anything  more  substantial  than  mere  words.' 

*  What } '  said  Pigasov,  winking  his  eyes. 
'You    understood   what    I    meant,'   retorted 

Rudin,  with  involuntary,  but  instantly  repressed 

impatience.     *  I  repeat,  if  man  has  no  steady 

principle   in   which   he   trusts,   no   ground   on 

5-i 


RUDIN 

which  he  can  take  a  firm  stand,  how  can  he 
form  a  just  estimate  of  the  needs,  the  tendencies 
and  the  future  of  his  country  ?  How  can  he 
know  what  he  ought  to  do,  if ' 

'  I  leave  you  the  field,'  ejaculated  Pigasov 
abruptly,  and  with  a  bow  he  turned  away 
without  looking  at  any  one. 

Rudin  stared  at  him,  and  smiled  slightly, 
saying  nothing. 

'  Aha  !  he  has  taken  to  flight ! '  said  Darya 
Mihailovna.     '  Never  mind,  Dmitri.  ...  I  beg 
your  pardon,'  she  added  with  a  cordial  smile, 
'  what  is  your  paternal  name  ?  ' 
Nikolaitch.' 

Never  mind,  my  dear  Dmitri  Nikolaitch, 
he  did  not  deceive  any  of  us.  He  wants  to 
make  a  show  of  not  wishing  to  argue  any  more. 
He  is  conscious  that  he  cannot  argue  with  you. 
But  you  had  better  sit  nearer  to  us  and  let  us 
have  a  little  talk.' 

Rudin  moved  his  chair  up. 

*  How  is  it  we  have  not  met  till  now  ? '  was 
Darya  Mihailovna's  question.      '  That   is  what 
surprises  me.     Have  you  read  this  book  ?  С  est 
de  TocquevillCy  vous  savez  ? ' 
53 


RUDIN 

And  Darya  Mihailovna  held  out  the  French 
pamphlet  to  Rudin. 

Rudin  took  the  thin  volume  in  his  hand, 
turned  over  a  few  pages  of  it,  and  laying  it 
down  on  the  table,  replied  that  he  had  not  read 
that  particular  work  of  M.  de  Tocqueville,  but 
that  he  had  often  reflected  on  the  question 
treated  by  him.  A  conversation  began  to 
spring  up.  Rudin  seemed  uncertain  at  first, 
and  not  disposed  to  speak  out  freely;  his 
words  did  not  come  readily,  but  at  last  he  grew 
warm  and  began  to  speak.  In  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  his  voice  was  the  only  sound  in  the  room, 
All  were  crowding  in  a  circle  round  him. 

Only  Pigasov  remained  aloof,  in  a  corner  by 
the  fireplace.  Rudin  spoke  with  intelligence, 
with  fire  and  with  judgment ;  he  showed  much 
learning,  wide  reading.  No  one  had  expected 
to  find  in  him  a  remarkable  man.  His  clothes 
were  so  shabby,  so  little  was  known  of  him. 
Every  one  felt  it  strange  and  incomprehensible 
that  such  a  clever  man  should  have  suddenly 
made  his  appearance  in  the  country.  He 
seemed  all  the  more  wonderful  and,  one  may 
even  say,  fascinating  to  all  of  them,  beginning 

54 


RUDIN 

with  Darya  Mihailovna.  She  was  pluming 
herself  on  having  discovered  him,  and  already 
at  this  early  date  was  dreaming  of  how  she 
would  introduce  Rudin  into  the  world.  In 
her  quickness  to  receive  impressions  there  was 
much  that  was  almost  childish,  in  spite  of  her 
years.  Alexandra  Pavlovna,  to  tell  the  truth, 
understood  little  of  all  that  Rudin  said,  but 
was  full  of  wonder  and  delight ;  her  brother  too 
was  admiring  him.  Pandalevsky  was  watching 
Darya  Mihailovna  and  was  filled  with  envy. 
Pigasov  thought, '  If  I  have  to  give  five  hundred 
roubles  I  will  get  a  nightingale  to  sing  better 
than  that ! '  But  the  most  impressed  of  all  the 
^artyjvv£r£_Bassistoff  and  Natalya.  Scarcely  a 
breath  escaped  Bassistoff ;  he  sat  the  whole  time 
with  open  mouth  and  round  eyes  and  listened — 
listened  as  he  had  never  listened  to  any  one  in 
his  life — while  Natalya's  face  was  suffused  by 
a  crimson  flush,  and  her  eyes,  fastened  un- 
waveringly on  Rudin,  were  both  dimmed  and 
shining. 

'  What   splendid   eyes   he    has  I  *    Volintsev 
whispered  to  her. 

•Yes,  they  are.* 

55 


RUDIN 

•It's  only  a  pity  his  hands  are  so  big  and 
red.' 

Natalya  made  no  reply. 

Tea  was  brought  in.  The  conversation  became 
more  general,  but  still  by  the  sudden  unanimity 
with  which  every  one  was  silent,  directly  Rudin 
opened  his  mouth,  one  could  judge  of  the 
strength  of  the  impression  he  had  produced. 
Darya  Mihailovna  suddenly  felt  inclined  to 
tease  Pigasov.  She  went  up  to  him  and  said 
in  an  undertone,  '  Why  don't  you  speak  instead 
of  doing  nothing  but  smile  sarcastically  ?  Make 
an  effort,  challenge  him  again,'  and  without 
waiting  for  him  to  answer,  she  beckoned  to 
Rudin. 

*  There 's  one  thing  more  you  don't  know 
about  him,'  she  said  to  him,  with  a  gesture 
towards  Pigasov, — 'he  is  a  terrible  hater  of 
women,  he  is  always  attacking  them;  pray, 
show  him  the  true  path.' 

Rudin  involuntarily  looked  down  upon 
Pigasov  ;  he  was  a  head  and  shoulders  taller. 
Pigasov  almost  withered  up  with  fury,  and  his 
sour  face  grew  pale. 

*  Darya  Mihailovna  is  mistaken,'  he  said  in 

56 


RUDIN 

an  unsteady  voice, '  I  do  not  only  attack  women ; 
I  am  not  a  great  admirer  of  the  whole  human 
species.' 

'  What  can  have  given  you  such  a  poor 
opinion  of  them  ? '  inquired  Rudin. 

Pigasov  looked  him  straight  in  the  face. 

*  The  study  of  my  own  heart,  no  doubt,  in 
which  I  find  every  day  more  and  more  that  is 
base.  I  judge  of  others  by  myself  Possibly 
this  too  is  erroneous,  and  I  am  far  worse  than 
others,  but  what  am  I  to  do  ?  it 's  a  habit ! ' 

*  I  understand  you  and  sympathise  with  you/ 
was  Rudin's  rejoinder.  'What  generous  soul 
has  not  experienced  a  yearning  for  self-humilia- 
tion ?  But  one  ought  not  to  remain  in  that 
condition  from  which  there  is  no  outlet  beyond.' 

*  I  am  deeply  indebted  for  the  certificate  of 
generosity  you  confer  on  my  soul,'  retorted 
Pigasov.  'As  for  my  condition,  there 's  not  much 
amiss  with  it,  so  that  even  if  there  were  an 
outlet  from  it,  it  might  go  to  the  deuce,  I 
shouldn't  look  for  it !  * 

*But  that  means — pardon  the  expression — 
to  prefer  the  gratification  of  your  own  pride  to 
the  desire  to  be  and  live  in  the  trutiL' 
57 


RUDIN 

*  Undoubtedly/  cried  Pigasov,  *  pride — that  I 
understand,  and  you,  I  expect,  understand,  and 
every  one  understands ;  but  truth,  what  is  truth  ? 
Where  is  it,  this  truth  ? ' 

'  You  are  repeating  yourself,  let  me  warn  you,* 
remarked  Darya  Mihailovna. 

Pigasov  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

'  Well,  where 's  the  harm  if  I  do  ?  I  ask  : 
where  is  truth  ?  Even  the  philosophers  don't 
know  what  it  is.  Kant  says  it  is  one  thing  ;  but 
Hegel — no,  you  're  wrong,  it 's  something  else.' 

'And  do  you  know  what  Hegel  says  of  it  ?* 
asked  Rudin,  without  raising  his  voice. 

'  I  repeat,'  continued  Pigasov,  flying  into  a 
passion,  *  that  I  cannot  understand  what  truth 
means.  According  to  my  idea,  it  doesn't  exist 
at  all  in  the  world,  that  is  to  say,  the  word 
exists  but  not  the  thing  itself.* 

*  Fie,  fie  ! '  cried  Darya  Mihailovna,  *  I  wonder 
you  're  not  ashamed  to  say  so,  you  old  sinner ! 
No  truth?  What  is  there  to  live  for  in  the 
world  after  that .? ' 

'  Well,  I  go  so  far  as  to  think,  Darya  Mihai- 
lovna,' retorted  Pigasov,  in  a  tone  of  annoyance, 
*  that  it  would  be  much  easier  for  you,  in  any  case, 
58 


RUDIN 

to  live  without  truth  than  without  your  cook, 
Stepan,  who  is  such  a  master  hand  at  soups ! 
And  what  do  you  want  with  truth,  kindly  tell 
me?  you  can't  trim  a  bonnet  with  it !' 

*  A  joke  is  not  an  argument/  observed  Darya 
Mihailovna,  'especially  when  you  descend  to 
personal  insult' 

*  I  don't  know  about  truth,  but  I  see  speaking 
it  does  not  answer,'  muttered  Pigasov,  and  he 
turned  angrily  away. 

And  Rudin  began  to  speak  of^pridfig^and  he 
spoke  well.  He  showed  that  man  without  pride 
is  worthless,  that  pride  is  the  lever  by  which 
the  earth  can  be  moved  from  its  foundations, 
but  that  at  the  same  time  he  alone  deserves  the 
name  of  man  who  knows  how  to  control  his 
pride,  as  the  rider  does  his  horse,  who  offers 
up  his  own  personality  as  a  sacrifice  to  the 
general  good. 

'  Egoism,'  so  he  ended, '  is  suicide.  The  egoist 
withers  like  a  solitary  barren  tree  ;  but  pride, 
ambition,  as  the  active  effort  after  perfection,  is 
the  source  of  all  that  is  great.  .  .  .  Yes  !  a  man 
must  prune  away  the  stubborn  egoism  of  his 
personality  to  give  it  the  right  of  self-expression. 
59 


RUDIN 

*  Can  you  lend  me  a  pencil  ? '  Pigasov  asked 
Bassistoff. 

Bassistoff  did  not  at  once  understand  what 
Pigasov  had  asked  him. 

*What  do  you  want  a  pencil  for?'  he  said 
at  last. 

*  I  want  to  write  down  Mr.  Rudin's  last 
sentence.  If  one  doesn't  write  it  down,  one 
might  forget  it,  I  'm  afraid  I  But  you  will  own, 
a  sentence  like  that  is  such  a  handful  of  trumps.' 

*  There  are  things  which  it  is  a  shame  to 
laugh  at  and  make  fun  of,  African  Semenitch !' 
said  Bassistoff  warmly,  turning  away  from 
Pigasov. 

Meanwhile  Rudin  had  approached  Natalya. 
She  got  up ;  her  face  expressed  her  confusion. 
Volintsev,  who  was  sitting  near  her,  got  up  too. 

*  I  see  a  piano,'  began  Rudin,  with  the  gentle 
courtesy  of  a  travelling  prince  ;  '  don't  you  play 
on  it?' 

*  Yes,  I  play,'  replied  Natalya,  'but  not  very 
well.  Here  is  Konstantin  Diomiditch  plays 
much  better  than  I  do.' 

Pandalevsky  put  himself  forward  with  a 
simper. 

60 


RUDIN 

*  You  should  not  say  that.  Natalya 
Alexyevna ;  your  playing  is  not  at  all  inferior 
to  mine.* 

'  Do  you  know  Schubert's  "  Erlkonig"?'  asked 
Rudin. 

*  He  knows  it,  he  knows  it ! '  interposed  Darya 
Mihailovna.  *  Sit  down,  Konstantin.  You  are 
fond  of  music,  Dmitri  Nikolaitch  ? ' 

Rudin  only  made  a  slight  motion  of  the 
head  and  ran  his  hand  through  his  hair,  as 
though  disposing  himself  to  listen.  Pandalevsky 
began  to  play. 

Natalya  was  standing  near  the  piano,  directly 
Facing  RudinT^'l^TThriTrst-sotHKi  his  face  was 
transfigured.  His  dark  blue  eyes  moved  slowly 
about,  from  time  to  time  resting  upon  Natalya. 
Pandalevsky  finished  playing. 

Rudin  said  nothing  and  walked  up  to  the 
open  window.  A  fragrant  mist  lay  like  a  soft 
shroud  over  the  garden ;  a  drowsy  scent  breathed 
from  the  trees  near.  The  stars  shed  a  mild 
radiance.  The  summer  night  was  soft — and 
softened  all.  Rudin  gazed  into  the  dark  garden, 
and  looked  round. 

*That  music  and  this  night,'  he  began,  *re- 
6i 


RUDIN 

minded  me  of  my  student  days  in  Germany  ; 
our  meetings,  our  serenades.' 

'  You  have  been  in  Germany  then  ?'  said  Darya 
Mihailovna. 

*  I  spent  a  year  at  Heidelberg,  and  nearly  a 
year  at  Berlin.' 

'And  did  you  dress  as  a  student?  They  say 
they  wear  a  special  dress  there.' 

*  At  Heidelberg  I  wore  high  boots  with  spurs, 
and  a  hussar's  jacket  with  braid  on  it,  and  I  let 
my  hair  grow  to  my  shoulders.  In  Berlin  the 
students  dress  like  everybody  else.' 

'Tell  us  something  of  your  student  life,' 
said  Alexandra  Pavlovna. 

Rudin  complied.  He  was  not  altogether 
successful  in  narrative.  There  was  a  lack  of 
colour  in  his  descriptions.  He  did  not  know 
how  to  be  humorous.  However,  from  relating 
his  own  adventures  abroad,  Rudin  soon  passed 
to  general  themes,  the  special  value  of  educa- 
tion and  science,  universities,  and  university 
life  generally.  He  sketched  in  a  large  and 
comprehensive  picture  in  broad  and  striking 
lines.  All  listened  to  him  with  profound 
attention.  His  eloquence_was  jnasterly  and 
•^62" 


RUDIN 

^Jtractive,  not  altogether  clear,  but  even  this_ 
waQt:]of  "^leamess^added  sTspecial  charm  to  his 
words^  -  -  " 

The  exuberance  of  his  thought  hindered 
Rudin  from  expressing  himself  definitely  and 
exactly.  Images  followed  upon  images  ;  com- 
parisons started  up  one  after  another — now 
startlingly  bold,  now  strikingly  true.  It  was 
not  the  complacent  effort  of  the  practised 
speaker,  but  the  very  breath  of  inspiration 
that  was  felt  in  his  impatient  improvising. 
He  did  not  seek  out  his  words  ;  they  came 
obediently  and  spontaneously  to  his  lips,  and 
each  word  seemed  to  flow  straight  from  his 
soul,  and  was  burning  with  all  the  fire  of 
conviction.  Rudin  was  the  master  of  almost 
the  greatest  secret — the  music  of  eloquence. 
He  knew  how  in  striking  one  chord  of  the 
heart  to  set  all  the  others  vaguely  quivering 
and  resounding.  Many  of  his  listeners,  perhaps, 
did  not  understand  very  precisely  what  his 
eloquence  was  about;  but  their  bosoms  heaved, 
it  seemed  as  though  veils  were  lifted  before 
their  eyes,  something  radiant,  glorious,  seemed 
shimmering  in  the  distance. 
63 


KUDIN 

All  Rudin's  thoughts  seemed  centred  on 
the  future ;  this  lent  him  something  of  the 
impetuous  dash  of  youth  .  .  .  Standing  at  the 
window,  not  looking  at  any  one  in  special,  he 
spoke,  and  inspired  by  the  general  sympathy 
and  attention,  the  presence  of  young  women, 
the  beauty  of  the  night,  carried  along  by  the 
tide  of  his  own  emotions,  he  rose  to  the  height 
of  eloquence,  of  poetry.  .  .  .  The  very  sound  of 
his  voice,  intense  and  soft,  increased  the  fascina- 
tion ;  it  seemed  as  though  some  higher  power 
were  speaking  through  his  lips,  startling  even 
to  himself.  .  .  .  Rudin  spoke  of  what  lends 
eternal  significance  to  the  fleeting  life  of  man. 

*  I  remember  a  Scandinavian  legend,'  thus  he 
concluded,  *  a  king  is  sitting  with  his  warriors 
round  the  fire  in  a  long  dark  barn.  It  was 
night  and  winter.  Suddenly  a  little  bird  flew 
in  at  the  open  door  and  flew  out  again  at  the 
other.  The  king  spoke  and  said  that  this  bird 
is  like  man  in  the  world  ;  it  flew  in  from  dark- 
ness and  out  again  into  darkness,  and  was  not 
long  in  the  warmth  and  light.  ..."  King," 
replies  the  oldest  of  the  warriors,  "  even  in  the 
dark  the  bird  is  not  lost,  but  finds  her  nest." 
64 


RUDIN 

Even  so  our  life  is  short  and  worthless  ;  but 
all  that  is  great  is  accomplished  through 
men.  The  consciousness  of  being  the  instru- 
ment of  these  higher  powers  ought  to  outweigh 
all  other  joys  for  man  ;  even  in  death  he  finds 
his  life,  his  nest.' 

Rudin  stopped  and  dropped  his  eyes  with 
a  smile  of  involuntary  embarrassment. 

*  Vous  etes  un  poetel  was  Darya  Mihailovna's 
comment  in  an  undertone. 

And  all  were  inwardly  agreeing  with  her — all 
except  Pigasov.  Without  waiting  for  the  end 
of  Rudin's  long  speech,  he  quietly  took  his  hat 
and  as  he  went  out  whispered  viciously  to 
Pandalevsky  who  was  standing  near  the  door : 

'  No  !     Fools  are  more  to  my  taste.' 

No  one,  however,  tried  to  detain  him  or  even 
noticed  his  absence. 

The  servants  brought  in  supper,  and  half  an 
hour  later,  all  had  taken  leave  and  separated. 
Darya  Mihailovna  begged  Rudin  to  remain 
the  night.  Alexandra  Pavlovna,  as  she  went 
home  in  the  carriage  with  her  brother,  several 
times  fell  to  exclaiming  and  marvelling  at  the 
extraordinary  cleverness  of  Rudin.      Volintsp 

65  G 


RUDIN 

agreed  with  her,  though  he  observed  that  he 
sometimes  expressed  himself  somewhat  ob- 
scurely —  that  is  to  say,  not  altogether 
intelligibly,  he  added, — wishing,  no  doubt,  to 
make  his  own  thought  clear,  but  his  face  was 
gloomy,  and  his  eyes,  fixed  on  a  corner  of  the 
carriage,  seemed  even  more  melancholy  than 
usual. 

Pandalevsky  went  to  bed,  and  as  he  took  off 
his  daintily  embroidered  braces,  he  said  aloud 
*  A  very  smart  fellow  ! '  and  suddenly,  looking 
harshly  at  his  page,  ordered  him  out  of  the 
room.  Bassistoff  did  not  sleep  the  whole  night 
and  did  not  undress — he  was  writing  till  morn- 
ing a  letter  to  a  comrade  of  his  in  Moscow  ; 
and  Natalya,  too,  though  she  undressed  and  lay 
down  in  her  bed,  had  not  an  instant's  sleep  and 
never  closed  her  eyes.  With  her  head  propped 
on  her  arm,  she  gazed  fixedly  into  the  darkness  ; 
her  veins  were  throbbing  feverishly  and  her 
bosom  often  heaved  with  a  deep  sigh. 


60 


IV 

The  next  morning  Rudin  had  only  just 
finished  dressing  when  a  servant  came  to  him 
with  an  invitation  from  Darya  Mihailovna  to 
come  to  her  boudoir  and  drink  tea  with  her. 
Rudin  found  her  alone.  She  greeted  him  very 
cordially,  inquired  whether  he  had  passed  a 
good  night,  poured  him  out  a  cup  of  tea  with 
her  own  hands,  asked  him  whether  there  was 
sugar  enough  in  it,  offered  him  a  cigarette,  and 
twice  again  repeated  that  she  was  surprised 
that  she  had  not  met  him  long  before.  Rudin 
was  about  to  take  a  seat  some  distance  away ; 
but  Darya  Mihailovna  motioned  him  to  an  easy 
chair,  which  stood  near  her  lounge,  and  bending 
a  little  towards  him  began  to  question  him 
about  his  family,  his  plans  and  intentions. 
Darya  Mihailovna  spoke  carelessly  and  listened 
with  an  air  of  indifference  ;  but  it  was  perfectly 

67 


RUDIN 

evident  to  Rudin  that  she  was  laying  herself 
out  to  please  him,  even  to  flatter  him.  It  was 
not  for  nothing  that  she  had  arranged  this 
morning  interview,  and  had  dressed  so  simply 
yet  elegantly  a  la  Madame  Шсат1ег\  But 
Darya  Mihailovna  soon  left  off  questioning 
him.  She  began  to  tell  him  about  herself,  her 
youth,  and  the  people  she  had  known.  Rudin 
gave  a  sympathetic  attention  to  her  lucubrations, 
though — a  curious  fact — whatever  personage 
Darya  Mihailovna  might  be  talking  about,  she 
always  stood  in  the  foreground,  she  alone,  and 
the  personage  seemed  to  be  effaced,  to  slink 
away  in  the  background,  and  to  disappear.  But 
to  make  up  for  that,  Rudin  learnt  in  full  detail 
precisely  what  Darya  Mihailovna  had  said  to  a 
certain  distinguished  statesman,  and  what  influ- 
ence she  had  had  on  such  and  such  a  celebrated 
poet.       To    judge    from    Darya    Mihailovna's 

'accounts,  one  might  fancy  that  all  the  dis- 
tinguished men  of  the  last  five-and-twenty 
years  had  dreamt  of  nothing  but  how  they 
could  make  her  acquaintance,  and  gain  her 
good    opinion.     She    spoke   of  them    simply, 

^  without  particular  enthusiasm  or  admiration,  as 

68 


RUDIN 

though  they  were  her  daily  associates,  calh'ng 
some  of  them  queer  fellows.      As  she  talked  of 
them,   like   a   rich  setting   round   a  worthless  \v 
stone,    their    names    ranged    themselves    in    a  > 
brilliant   circlet   round    the    principal    name — 
around  Darya  Mihailovna. 

Rudin  listened,  smoking  a  cigarette,  and 
said  little.  He  could  speak  well  and  liked 
speaking  ;  carrying  on  a  conversation  was  not 
in  his  line,  though  he  was  also  a  good  listener. 
All  men — if  only  they  had  not  been  intimidated 
by  him  to  begin  with — opened  their  hearts  with 
confidence  in  his  presence ;  he  followed  the 
thread  of  another  man's  narrative  so  readily 
and  sympathetically.  He  had  a  great  deal  of 
good-nature — that  special  good-nature  of  which 
men  are  full,  who  are  accustomed  to  feel  them- 
selves superior  to  others.  In  arguments  he 
seldom  allowed  his  antagonist  to  express  him- 
self fully,  he  crushed  him  by  his  eager,  vehement 
and  passionate  dialectic. 

Darya     Mihailovna     expressed     herself    in 

Russian.     She  prided  herself  on  her  knowledge 

of  her   own    language,   though    French   words 

and  expressions  often  escaped  her.     She  inten- 

e>9 


RUDIN 

tionally  made  use  of  simple  popular  terms  of 
speech  ;  but  not  always  successfully.  Rudin's 
ear  was  not  outraged  by  the  strange  medley  of 
language  on  Darya  Mihailovna's  lips,  indeed  he 
hardly  had  an  ear  for  it. 

Darya  Mihailovna  was  exhausted  at  last  and 
letting  her  head  fall  on  the  cushions  of  her 
easy-chair  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  Rudin  and 
was  silent. 

*  I  understand  now/  began  Rudin,  speaking 
slowly,  *  I  understand  why  you  come  every 
summer  into  the  country.  This  period  of  rest 
is  essential  for  you  ;  the  peace  of  the  country 
after  your  life  in  the  capital  refreshes  and 
strengthens  you.  I  am  convinced  that  you 
must  be  profoundly  sensitive  to  the  beauties  of 
nature.' 

Darya  Mihailovna  gave  Rudin  a  sidelong 
look. 

*  Nature  —  yes  —  yes  —  of  course.  ...  I  am 
passionately  fond  of  it ;  but  do  you  know, 
Dmitri  Nikolaitch,  even  in  the  country  one  can- 
not do  without  society.  And  here  there  is  prac- 
tically none.  Pigasov  is  the  most  intelligent 
person  here.' 

70 


RUDIN 

*  The  cross  old  gentleman  who  was  here  last 
night  ?  '  inquired  Rudin. 

*  Yes.  ...  In  the  country  though,  even  he  is 
of  use — he  sometimes  makes  one  laugh.' 

'  He  is  by  no  means  stupid/  returned  Rudin, 
'  but  he  is  on  the  wrong  path.  I  don't  know 
whether  you  will  agree  with  me,  Darya 
Mihailovna,  but  in  negation — in  complete  and 
universal  negation — there  is  no  salvation  to  be 
found.  Deny  everything  and  you  Avill  easily 
pass  for  a  man  of  ability  ;  it 's  a  well-known 
trick.  Simple-hearted  people  are  quite  ready 
to  conclude  that  you  are  worth  more  than  what 
you  deny.  And  that 's  often  an  error.  In  the 
first  place,  you  can  pick  holes  in  anything  ;  and 
secondly,  even  if  you  are  right  in  what  you  say, 
it 's  the  worse  for  you  ;  your  intellect,  directed 
by  simple  negation,  grows  colourless  and  withers 
up.  While  you  gratify  your  vanity,  you  are 
deprived  of  the  true  consolations  of  thought ; 
life — the  essence  of  life — evades  your  petty  and 
jaundiced  criticism,  and  you  end  by  scolding 
and  becoming  ridiculous.  Only  one  who  loves 
has  the  right  to  censure  and  find  fault.' 

*  Voild  Monsieur  Pigasov  enterre'^   observed 

71 


RUDIN 

Darya  Mihailovna.  *  What  a  genius  you  have  for 
defining  a  man  !  But  Pigasov  certainly  would 
not  have  even  understood  you.  He  loves 
nothing  but  his  own  individuality.' 

'  And  he  finds  fault  with  that  so  as  to  have 
the  right  to  find  fault  with  others/  Rudin  put  in. 

Darya  Mihailovna  laughed. 

'"He  judges  the  sound,"  as  the  saying  is, 
"the  sound  by  the  sick."  By  the  way,  what  do 
you  think  of  the  baron  ? ' 

*  The  baron  ?  He  is  an  excellent  man,  with 
a  good  heart  and  a  knowledge  .  .  .  but  he  has 
no  character  .  .  .  and  he  will  remain  all  his 
life  half  a  savant,  half  a  man  of  the  world,  that 
is  to  say,  a  dilettante,  that  is  to  say,  to  speak 
plainly, — neither  one  thing  nor  the  other.  .  ,  . 
But  it 's  a  pity  ! ' 

'That  was  my  own  idea,'  observed  Darya 
Mihailovna.  *  I  read  his  article.  .  .  .  Entre 
nous  .  .  .  cela  a  assez pen  defond' 

'  Who  else  have  you  here  ? '  asked  Rudin, 
after  a  pause. 

Darya  Mihailovna  knocked  off  the  ash  of  her 
cigarette  with  her  little  finger. 

'  Oh,  there  is  hardly  any  one  else.  Madame 
1% 


RUDIN 

Lipin,  Alexandra  Pavlovna,  whom  you  saw 
yesterday ;  she  is  very  sweet — but  that  is  all. 
Her  brother  is  also  a  capital  fellow — un  parfait 
honnete  homme.  The  Prince  Garin  you  know. 
Those  are  all.  There  are  two  or  three  neigh- 
bours besides,  but  they  are  really  good  for 
nothing.  They  either  give  themselves  airs  or 
are  unsociable,  or  else  quite  unsuitably  free  and 
easy.  The  ladies,  as  you  know,  I  see  nothing 
of.  There  is  one  other  of  our  neighbours  said 
to  be  a  very  cultivated,  even  a  learned,  man, 
but  a  dreadfully  queer  creature,  a  whimsical 
character.  Alexandrine,  knows  him,  and  I 
fancy  is  not  indifferent  to  him.  .  .  .  Come,  you 
ought  to  talk  to  her,  Dmitri  Nikolaitch  ;  she  's  a 
sweet  creature.  She  only  wants  developing.' 
'  I  liked  her  very  much,'  remarked  Rudin. 

*  A  perfect  child,  Dmitri  Nikolaitch,  an 
absolute  baby.  She  has  been  married,  mais 
dest  tout  coimne,  ...  If  I  were  a  man,  I  should 
only  fall  in  love  with  women  like  that' 

*  Really  ? ' 

'  Certainly.  Such  women  are  at  least  fresh, 
and  freshness  cannot  be  put  on.' 

*  And  can   everything   else  ? '    Rudin   asked, 

73 


RUDIN 

and  he  laughed — a  thing  which  rarely  happened 
with  him.  When  he  laughed  his  face  assumed 
a  strange,  almost  aged  appearance,  his  eyes 
disappeared,  his  nose  was  wrinkled  up. 

'  And  who  is  this  queer  creature,  as  you  call 
him,  to  whom  Madame  Lipin  is  not  indifferent?* 
he  asked. 

*  A  certain  Lezhnyov,  Mihailo  Mihailitch,  a 
landowner  here.* 

Rudin  seemed  astonished  ;  he  raised  his  head. 
'  Lezhnyov — Mihailo    Mihailitch?'   he   ques- 
tioned.    *  Is  he  a  neighbour  of  yours  ? ' 

*  Yes.     Do  you  know  him  ?  ' 
Rudin  did  not  speak  for  a  minute. 

*  I  used  to  know  him  long  ago.  He  is  a  rich 
man,  I  suppose  ? '  he  added,  pulling  the  fringe 
on  his  chair. 

'  Yes,  he  is  rich,  though  he  dresses  shockingly, 
and  drives  in  a  racing  droshky  like  a  bailiff.  I 
have  been  anxious  to  get  him  to  come  here ;  he 
is  spoken  of  as  clever  ;  I  have  some  business 
with  him.  .  .  .  You  know  I  manage  my  property 
myself.' 

Rudin  bowed  assent. 

*  Yes;  I  manage  it  myself,'  Darya  Mihailovna 

74 


RUDIN 

continued.  Ч  don't  introduce  any  foreign 
crazes,  but  prefer  what  is  our  own,  what  is 
Russian,  and,  as  you  see,  things  don't  seem  to 
do  badly,'  she  added,  with  a  wave  of  her  hand. 

*  I  have  ahvays  been  persuaded,'  observed 
Rudin  urbanely,  *of  the  absolutely  mistaken 
position  of  those  people  who  refuse  to  admit 
the  practical  intelligence  of  women.' 

Darya  Mihailovna  smiled  affably. 

'  You  are  very  good  to  us,'  was  her  comment. 
*  But  what  was  I  going  to  say  ?  What  were  we 
speaking  оП  Oh,  yes ;  Lezhnyov :  I  have 
some  business  with  him  about  a  boundary.  I 
have  several  times  invited  him  here,  and  even 
to-day  I  am  expecting  him;  but  there's  no 
knowing  whether  he  '11  come  ...  he 's  such  a 
strange  creature.' 

The  curtain  before  the  door  was  softly  moved 
aside  and  the  steward  came  in,  a  tall  man,  grey 
and  bald,  in  a  black  coat,  a  white  cravat,  and 
a  white  waistcoat. 

•  What  is  it .? '  inquired  Darya  Mihailovna, 
and,  turning  a  little  towards  Rudin,  she  added 
in  a  low  voice,  *  n'est  ce  pas,  comme  il  ressemble  d 
Canning  ? ' 

75 


RUDIN 

*Mihailo  Mihailitch  Lezhnyov  is  here,'  an- 
nounced the  steward.     *  Will  you  see  him  ?  * 

'  Good  Heavens  ! '  exclaimed  Darya  Mihai- 
lovna, '  speak  of  the  devil ask  him  up.' 

The  steward  went  away. 

'  He 's  such  an  awkward  creature.  Now  he 
has  come,  it 's  at  the  wrong  moment ;  he  has 
interrupted  our  talk.' 

Rudin  got  up  from  his  seat,  but  Darya 
Mihailovna  stopped  him. 

*  Where  are  you  going  ?  We  can  discuss  the 
matter  as  well  before  you.  And  I  want  you  to 
analyse  him  too,  as  you  did  Pigasov.  When 
you  talk,  vous  gravez  comnie  avec  un  burin. 
Please  stay.'  Rudin  was  going  to  protest,  but 
after  a  moment's  thought  he  sat  down. 

Mihailo  Mihailitch,  whom  the  reader  already 
knows,  came  into  the  room.  He  wore  the  same 
grey  overcoat,  and  in  his  sunburnt  hands  he 
carried  the  same  old  foraging  cap.  He  bowed 
tranquilly  to  Darya  Mihailovna,  and  came  up 
to  the  tea-table. 

*  At  last  you  have  favoured  me  with  a  visit, 
Monsieur  Lezhnyov  ! '  began  Darya  Mihailovna. 
*  Pray  sit  down.     You  are  already  acquainted, 

76 


RUDIN 

I  hear/  she  continued,  with  a  gesture  in  Rudin's 
direction. 

Lezhnyov  looked  at  Rudin  and  smiled  rather 
queerly. 

*  I  know  Mr.  Rudin/  he  assented,  with  a 
slight  bow. 

'  We  were  together  at  the  university,'  observed 
Rudin  in  a  low  voice,  dropping  his  eyes. 

*And  we  met  afterwards  also/  remarked 
Lezhnyov  coldly. 

Darya  Mihailovna  looked  at  both  in  some 
perplexity  and  asked  Lezhnyov  to  sit  dowa 
He  sat  down. 

*  You  wanted  to  see  me/  he  began,  *  on  the 
subject  of  the  boundary  ? ' 

*  Yes  ;  about  the  boundary.  But  I  also  wished 
to  see  you  in  any  case.  We  are  near  neighbours, 
you  know,  and  all  but  relations.' 

'  I  am  much  obliged  to  you/  returned 
Lezhnyov.  *  As  regards  the  boundary,  we  have 
perfectly  arranged  that  matter  with  your  man- 
ager ;  I  have  agreed  to  all  his  proposals.' 

'  I  knew  that' 

*  But  he  told  me  that  the  contract  could  not  be 
signed  without  a  personal  interview  with  you.' 

n 


RUDIN 

'Yes;  that  is  my  rule.  By  the  way,  allow 
me  to  ask:  all  your  peasants,  I  believe,  pay 
rent?' 

'Just  so.* 

*  And  you  trouble  yourself  about  boundaries ! 
That 's  very  praiseworthy.' 

Lezhnyov  did  not  speak  for  a  minute. 
'  Well,  I  have  come  for  a  personal  interview,' 
he  said  at  last. 

Darya  Mihailovna  smiled. 

*  I  see  you  have  come.  You  say  that  in  such 
a  tone.  .  .  .  You  could  not  have  been  very 
anxious  to  come  to  see  me.' 

Ч  never  go  anywhere,'  rejoined  Lezhnyov* 
phlegmatically. 

*  Not  anywhere  ?  But  you  go  to  see  Alexandra 
Pavlovna.' 

*  I  am  an  old  friend  of  her  brother's.' 

^  Her  brother's !  However,  I  never  wish  to 
force  any  one.  .  ,  .  But  pardon  me,  Mihailo 
Mihailitch,  I  am  older  than  you,  and  I  may  be 
allowed  to  give  you  advice ;  what  charm  do 
you  find  in  such  an  unsociable  way  of  living? 
Or  is  my  house  in  particular  displeasing  to  you? 
You  dislike  me  ? ' 

78  *- 


RUDIN 

*I  don't  know  you,  Darya  Mihailovna, 
and  so  I  can't  dislike  you.  You  have  a 
splendid  house ;  but  I  will  confess  to  you 
frankly  I  don't  like  to  have  to  stand  on 
ceremony.  And  I  haven't  a  respectable  suit, 
I  haven't  any  gloves,  and  I  don't  belong  to 
your  set.' 

*By  birth,  by  education,  you  belong  to  it, 
Mihailo  Mihailitch  !  vous  etes  des  ndtres! 

*  Birth  and  education  are  all  very  well,  Darya 
Mihailovna ;  that 's  not  the  question.' 

'  A  man  ought  to  live  with  his  fellows, 
Mihailo  Mihailitch  !  What  pleasure  is  there  in 
sitting  like  Diogenes  in  his  tub  ? ' 

*  Well,  to  begin  with,  he  was  very  well  off 
there,  and  besides,  how  do  you  know.  I  don't 
live  with  my  fellows  ? ' 

Darya  Mihailovna  bit  her  lip. 

*  That 's  a  different  matter  !  It  only  remains 
for  me  to  express  my  regret  that  I  have  not 
the  honour  of  being  included  in  the  number  of 
your  friends.' 

'Monsieur  Lezhnyov,'  put  in  Rudin,  'seems 
CO  carry  to  excess  a  laudable  sentiment — the 
love  of  independence.' 

79 


RUDIN 

Lezhnyov  made  no  reply,  he  only  looked  at 
Rudin.    A  short  silence  followed. 

'  And  so,'  began  Lezhnyov,  getting  up, '  I  may 
consider  our  business  as  concluded,  and  tell 
your  manager  to  send  me  the  papers.' 

*  You  may,  .  .  .  though  I  confess  you  are  so 
uncivil  I  ought  really  to  refuse  you.' 

*  But  you  know  this  rearrangement  of  the 
boundary  is  far  more  in  your  interest  than  in 
mine.' 

Darya  Mihailovna  shrugged  her  shoulders. 

*  You  will  not  even  have  luncheon  here  ? '  she 
asked. 

*  Thank  you  ;  I  never  take  luncheon,  and  I 
am  in  a  hurry  to  get  home.' 

Darya  Mihailovna  got  up. 

*  I  will  not  detain  you/  she  said,  going  to  the 
window.     *  I  will  not  venture  to  detain  you.' 

Lezhnyov  began  to  take  leave. 
'  Good-bye,  Monsieur  Lezhnyov !    Pardon  me 
for  having  troubled  you.' 

*  Oh,  not  at  all ! '  said  Lezhnyov,  and  he  went 
away. 

'Well,  what   do   you  say  to  that?*    Darya 
Mihailovna  asked   of    Rudin.     Ч    had   heard 
80 


RUDIN 

he  was  eccentric,  but  really  that  was  beyond 
everything ! ' 

*  His    is    the    same    disease    as    Pigasov's/ 
observed  Rudin,  'the^e^iVe  of  being  original. 'V 
One  affects  to  be  a  Mephistopheles — the  other 

a  cynic.   In  all  that,  there  is  much  egoism,  much! 
vanity,   but   little   truth,   little   love.      Indeed, 
there  is  even  calculation  of  a  sort  in  it.     A  man  ' 
puts  on  a  mask  of  indifference  and  indolence  so  . 
that  some  one  will  be  sure  to  think,  "  Look  at 
that  man  ;  what  talents  he  has  thrown  away  ! "  j 
But  if  you  come  to  look  at  him  more  attentively, 
there  is  no  talent  in  him  whatever.' 

^  Et  de  deux  !^  was  Darya  Mihailovna's  com- 
ment. *  You  are  a  terrible  man  at  hitting  people 
off.     One  can  hide  nothing  from  you.' 

'  Do  you  think  so  ? '  said  Rudin.  ...  *  How- 
ever,' he  continued,  *  I  ought  not  really  to  speak 
about  Lezhnyov  ;  I  loved  him,  loved  him  as 
a  friend  .  .  .  but  afterwards,  through  various 
misunderstandings  .  .  .' 

'  You  quarrelled  ?  ' 

*  No.  But  we  parted,  and  parted,  it  seems,  for 
ever.' 

'Ah,  I  noticed  that  the  whole  time   of  his 
8i  f 


RUDIN 

visit  you  were  not  quite  yourself.  .  .  .  But  I  am 
much  indebted  to  you  for  this  morning.  I  have 
spent  my  time  extremely  pleasantly.  But  one 
must  know  where  to  stop.  I  will  let  you  go 
till  lunch  time  and  I  will  go  and  look  after  my 
business.  My  secretary,  you  saw  him — Con- 
stantiny  c^est  lui  qui  est  топ  secretaire — must  be 
waiting  for  me  by  now.  I  commend  him  to 
you  ;  he  is  an  excellent,  obliging  young  man, 
and  quite  enthusiastic  about  you.  Au  revoir^ 
cher  Dmitri  Nikolaitch  !  How  grateful  I  am  to 
the  baron  for  having  made  me  acquainted  with 
you  ! ' 

And  Darya  Mihailovna  held  out  her  hand  to 
Rudin.  He  first  pressed  it,  then  raised  it  to 
his  lips  and  went  away  to  the  drawing-room  and 
from  there  to  the  terrace.  On  the  terrace  he 
met  Natalya. 


83 


Darya  Mihailovna's  daughter,  Natalya 
Alexyevna,  at  a  first  glance  might  fail  to 
please.  She  had  not  yet  had  time  to  develop  ; 
she  was  thin,  and  dark,  and  stooped  slightly. 
But  her  features  were  fine  and  regular,  though 
too  large  for  a  girl  of  seventeen.  Specially 
beautiful  was  her  pure,  smooth  forehead  above 
fine  eyebrows,  which  seemed  broken  in  the 
middle.  She  spoke  little^bttt4tsteii£d.iii.Qthers, 
and  fixed  her  eyes  on  them  as  though  she  were 
forming  her  own  conclusions.  She  would  often 
stand  with  listless  hands,  motionless  and  deep 
in  thought ;  her  face  at  such  moments  showed 
that  her  mind  was  at  work  within.  ...  A 
scarcely  p^rrppjifbb  'щlile  would  suddenly  ap- 
pear on  her  lips  and  vanish  again  ;  then  she 
would  slowly  raise  her  large  dark  eyes.  *Qu^a- 
vez-vous  ?  '  Mile.  Boncourt  would  ask  her,  and 
83 


RUDIN 

then  she  would  begin  to  scold  her,  saying  that  it 
was  improper  for  a  young  girl  to  be  absorbed 
and  to  appear  absent-minded.  But  Natalyawas 
not  absent-minded ;  on  the  contrary,  she  studied 
diligently  ;  she  read  and  worked  eagerly.  Her 
feelings  were  strong  and  deep,  but  reserved  ; 
even  as  a  child  she  seldom  cried,  and  now  she 
seldom  even  sighed  and  only  grew  slightly  pale 
when  anything  distressed  her.  Her  mother 
considered  her  a  sensible,  good  sort  of  girl, 
calling  her  in  a  joke  *  топ  honnete  homme  de 
fille'  but  had  not  a  very  high  opinion  of  her 
intellectual  abilities.  *  My  Natalya  happily  is 
cold,'  she  used  to  say,  *  not  like  me — and  it 
is  better  so.  She  will  be  happy.'  Darya 
Mihailovna  was  mistaken.  Rnt.  fg^  ty\o|;hers 
-junderstand  their  daughters. 

Natalya  loved  Darya  Mihailovna,  but  did  not 
fully  confide  in  her. 

'  You  have  nothing  to  hide  from  me/  Darya 
Mihailovna  said  to  her  once,  *or  else  you 
would  be  very  reserved  about  it ;  you  are 
rather  a  close  little  thing.' 

Natalya  looked  her  mother  in  the  face  and 
thought, '  Why  shouldn't  I  be  reserved  ? ' 
84 


RUDIN 

When  Rudin  met  her  on  the  terrace  she  was 
just  going  indoors  with  Mile.  Boncourtto  put 
on  her  hat  and  go  out  into  the  garden.  Her 
morning  occupations  were  over.  Natalya  was 
not  treated  as  a  school-girl  now.  Mile.  Boncourt 
had  not  given  her  lessons  in  mythology  and 
geography  for  a  long  while  ;  but  Natalya  had 
every  morning  to  read  historical  books,  travels, 
or  other  instructive  works  with  her.  Darya 
Mihailovna  selected  them,  ostensibly  on  a 
special  system  of  her  own.  In  reality  she 
simply  gave  Natalya  everything  which  the 
French  bookseller  forwarded  her  from  Peters- 
burg, except,  of  course,  the  novels  of  Dumas 
Fils  and  Co.  These  novels  Darya  Mihailovna 
read  herself.  Mile.  Boncourt  looked  specially 
severely  and  sourly  through  her  spectacles 
when  Natalya  was  reading  historical  books  ; 
according  to  the  old  French  lady's  ideas  all 
history  was  filled  with  impermissible  things, 
though  for  some  reason  or  other  of  all  the  great 
men  of  antiquity  she  herself  knew  only  one — 
Cambyses,  and  of  modern  times — Louis  XIV. 
and  Napoleon,  whom  she  could  not  endure. 
But  Natalya  read  books  too,  the  existence  of 
85 


RUDTN 

which   Mile.   Boncourt   did   not   suspect;    she 
^knew  all  Pushkin  by  heart. 

Nataiya'Frushed  slightly  at  meeting  Rudin. 

*  Are  you  going  for  a  walk  ?  '  he  asked  her, 

*  Yes.     We  are  going  into  the  garden.' 

*  May  I  come  with  you  ?  ' 
Natalya  looked  at  Mile.  Boncourt. 

*  Mais  certainement^  monsieur^  avec  plaisir* 
said  the  old  lady  promptly. 

Rudin  took  his  hat  and  walked  with  them. 

Natalya  at  first  felt  some  awkwardness  in 
walking  side  by  side  with  Rudin  on  the  same 
little  path  ;  afterwards  she  felt  more  at  ease. 
He  began  to  question  her  about  her  occupations 
•  and  how  she  liked  the  country.  She  replied  not 
without  timidity,  but  without  that  hasty  bash- 
fulness  which  is  so  often  taken  for  modesty. 
Her  heart  was  beating. 

'  You  are  not  bored  in  the  country  ? '  asked 
Rudin,  taking  her  in  with  a  sidelong  glance. 

*  How  can  one  be  bored  in  the  country?  I 
am  very  glad  we  are  here.  I  am  very  happy 
here.' 

'  You  are  happy — that  is  a  great  word.    How- 
ever, one  can  understpjid  it ;  you  are  young.' 
86 


RUDIN 

Rudin  pronounced  this  last  phrase  rather 
strangely  ;  either  he  envied  Natalya  or  he  was 
sorry  for  her. 

*  Yes  !  youth  ! '  he  continued,  *  the  whole  aim 
of  science  is  to  reach  consciously  what  is  be- 
stowed on  youth  for  nothing.' 

Natalya  looked  attentively  at  Rudin  ;  she  did 
not  understand  him. 

*  I  have  been  talking  all  this  morning  with 
your  mother/  he  went  on ;  *  she  is  an  extra- 
ordinary woman.  I  understand  why  all  our 
poets  sought  her  friendship.  Are  you  fond  of 
poetry  ? '  he  added,  after  a  pause. 

*  He  is  putting  me  through  an  examination,' 
thought  Natalya,  and  aloud  :  *  Yes  J_am~K£ry- 
fomLafJlL 

*  Poetry  is  the  language  of  the  gods.  I  love 
poems  myself  But  poetry  is  not  only  in 
poems;  it  is  diffused  everywhere,  it  is  around  us. 
Look  at  those  trees,  that  sky — on  all  sides  there 
is  the  breath  of  beauty,  and  of  life,  and  where 
there  is  life  and  beauty,  there  is  poetry  also.' 

*  Let  us  sit  down  here  on  this  bench,'  he 
added.  *  Here — so.  I  somehow  fancy  that 
when  you  are  more  used  to  me  (and  he  looked 

87 


RUDIN 

her  in  the  face  with  a  smile)  *  we  shall  be  friends, 
you  and  I.     What  do  you  think  ? ' 

*  He  treats  me  like  a  school-girl,'  Natalya 
reflected  again,  and,  not  knowing  what  to  say, 
she  asked  him  whether  he  intended  to  remain 
long  in  the  country. 

'  All  the  summer  and  autumn,  and  perhaps 
the  winter  too.  I  am  a  very  poor  man,  you 
know  ;  my  affairs  are  in  confusion,  and,  besides, 
I  am  tired  now  of  wandering  from  place  to 
place.     The  time  has  come  to  rest/ 

Natalya  was  surprised. 

*  Is  it  possible  you  feel  that  it  is  time  for  you 
to'rest  ?  '  she  asked  him  timidly. 

Rudin  turned  so  as  to  face  Natalya. 

*  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ? ' 

*  I  mean,'  she  replied  in  some  embarrassment, 
*  that  others  may  rest ;  but  you  .  .  .  you  ought 
to  work,  to  try  to  be  useful.  Who,  if  not 
you— ' 

*  I  thank  you  for  your  flattering  opinion,' 
Rudin  interrupted  her.  *  To  be  useful  ...  it 
is  easy  to  say ! '  (He  passed  his  hand  over  his 
face.)  *  To  be  useful ! '  he  repeated.  *  Even  if  I 
had  any  firm  conviction,  how  could  I  be  use- 

88 


RUDIN 

ful  ? — even  if  I  had  faith  in  my  own  powers, 
where  is  one  to  find  true,  sympathetic  souls  ? ' 

And  Rudin  waved  his  hand  so  hopelessly, 
and  let  his  head  sink  so  gloomily,  that  Natalya 
involuntarily  asked  herself,  were  those  really 
his — those  enthusiastic  words  full  of  the  breath 
of  hope,  she  had  heard  the  evening  before. 

*  But  no,'  he  said,  suddenly  tossing  back  his 
lion-like  mane,  'that  is  all  folly,  and  you  are 
right.  I  thank  you,  Natalya  Alexyevna,  I  thank 
you  truly.'  (Natalya  absolutely  did  not  know 
what  he  was  thanking  her  for.)  'Your  single 
phrase  has  recalled  to  me  my  duty,  has  pointed 
our^niF  my  path.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  must  act.  I 
must  поГБигу  my  talent,  if  I  have  any  ;  I  must 
not  squander  my  powers  on  talk  alone — empty, 
profitless  talk — on  mere  words,'  and  his  words 
flowed  in  a  stream.  He  spoke  nobly,  ardently, 
convincingly,  of  the  sin  of  cowardice  and 
indolence,  of  the  necessity  of  action.  He 
lavished  reproaches  on  himself,  maintained  that 
to  discuss  beforehand  what  you  mean  to  do  is 
as  unwise  as  to  prick  with  a  pin  the  swelling 
fruit,  that  it  is  only  a  vain  waste  of  strength 
and  sap.  He  declared  that  there  was  no  noble 
89 


RUDIN 

idea  which  would  not  gain  sympathy,  that  the 
only  people  who  remained  misunderstood  were 
those  who  either  did  not  know  themselves  what 
they  wanted,  ^  were  not  worthy  to  be  under- 
stood. He  spoke  at  length,  and  ended  by  once 
more  thanking  Natalya  Alexyevna,  and  utterly 
unexpectedly  pressed  her  hand,  exclaiming. 
*  You  are  a  noble,  generous  creature  ! ' 

This  outburst  horrified  Mile.  Boncourt,  who 
in  spite  of  her  forty  years'  residence  in  Russia 
understood  Russian  with  difficulty,  and  was 
only  moved  to  admiration  by  the  splendid 
rapidity  and  flow  of  words  on  Rudin's  lips. 
In  her  eyes,  however,  he  was  something  of  the 
nature  of  a  virtuoso  or  artist ;  and  from  people 
of  that  kind,  according  to  her  notions,  it  was 
impossible  to  demand  a  strict  adherence  to 
propriety. 

She  got  up  and  drew  her  skirts  with  a  jerk 
around  her,  observed  to  Natalya  that  it  was 
time  to  go  in,  especially  as  M.  Volinsoff  (so  she 
spoke  of  Volintsev)  was  to  be  there  to  lunch. 

'  And  here  he  is,'  she  added,  looking  up  one 
of  the  avenues  which  led  to  the  house,  and  in 
fact  Volintsev  appeared  not  far  off. 
90 


RUDIN 

He  came  up  with  a  hesitating  step,  greeted 
all  of  them  from  a  distance,  and  with  an  expres- 
sion of  pain  on  his  face  he  turned  to  Natalya 
and  said : 

*  Oh,  you  are  having  a  walk  ?  * 

'  Yes,'  answered  Natalya,  '  we  were  just  going 
home.' 

'  Ah  ! '  was  Volintsev's  reply.  *  Well,  let  us 
go,'  and  they  all  walked  towards  the  house. 

*  How  is  your  sister  ? '  Rudin  inquired,  in  a 
specially  cordial  tone,  of  Volintsev.  The  even- 
ing before,  too,  he  had  been  very  gracious  to 
him. 

'  Thank  you ;  she  is  quite  well.  She  will 
perhaps  be  here  to-day.  ...  J  think  you  were 
discussing  something  when  I  came  up  ? ' 

'Yes  ;  I  have  had  a  conversation  with  Natalya 
Alexyevna.  She  said  one  thing  to  me  which 
affected  me  strongly.' 

Volintsev  did  not  ask  what  the  one  thing 
was,  and  in  profound  silence  they  all  returned 
to  Darya  Mihailovna's  house. 

Before  dinner  the  party  was  again  assembled 
in  the   drawing-room.     Pigasov,  however,  did 
91 


RUDIN 


not  come.  Rudin  was  not  at  his  best;  he 
did  nothing  but  press  Pandalevsky  to  play 
Beethoven.  Volintsev  was  silent  and  stared  at 
the  floor.  Natalya  did  not  leave  her  mother's 
side,  and  was  at  times  lost  in  thought,  and  then 
bent  over  her  work.  Bassistoff  did  not  take  his 
eyes  off  Rudin,  constantly  on  the  alert  for  him 
to  say  something  brilliant  About  three  hours 
were  passed  in  this  way  rather  monotonously. 
Alexandra  Pavlovna  did  not  come  to  dinner, 
and  when  they  rose  from  table  Volintsev  at 
once  ordered  his  carriage  to  be  ready,  and 
slipped  away  without  saying  good-bye  to  any 
one. 

His  heart  was  heavy.     He  had  long  loved 
Natalya,  and  was  repeatedly  resolving  to  make 

\  her  an  offer.  .  .  .  She  was  kindly  disposed  to 
him, — but  her  heart  remained  unmoved  ;  he 
saw  that  clearly.  He  did  not  hope  to  inspire 
in  her  a  tenderer  sentiment,  and  was  only 
waiting  for  the  time  when  she  should  be  per- 

\  fectly  at  home  with  him  and  intimate  with  him. 
I  What  could  have  disturbed  him  ?  what  change 
had  he  noticed  in  these  two  days?     Natalya 
had  behaved  to  him  exactly  as  before.  .  .  . 
92 


RUDIN 

Whether  it  was  that  some  idea  had  come 
upon  him  that  he  perhaps  did  not_,Jknow 
Na±aly^'s.  character  at  all — that  she  was  more 
a  stranger  to  him  than  he  had  thought, — or 
jealousy  had  begun  to  work  in  him,  or  he  had 
some  dim  presentiment  of  ill  ,  .  .  anyway,  he 
suffered,  though  he  tried  to  reason  with  himself. 

When  he  came  in  to  his  sister's  room, 
Lezhnyov  was  sitting  with  her. 

'  Why  have  you  come  back  so  early  ? '  asked 
Alexandra  Pavlovna. 

*  Oh  !  I  was  bored.' 
'Was  Rudin  there?' 
'  Yes.' 

Volintsev  flung  down  his  cap  and  sat  down. 
Alexandra  Pavlovna  turned  easrerlv  to  him. 

'  Please,  Serezha,  help  me  to  convince  this 
obstinate  man  (she  signified  Lezhnyov)  that 
Rudin  is  extraordinarily  clever  and  eloquent' 

Volintsev  muttered  something. 

*  But  I  am  not  disputing  at  all  with  you,' 
Lezhnyov  began.  '  I  have  no  doubt  of  the 
cleverness  and  eloquence  of  Mr.  Rudin  ;  I  only 
say  that  I  don't  like  him.' 

*  But  have  you  seen  him  ^ '  inquired  Volintsev 

02 


RUDIN 

*I  saw  him  this  morning  at  Darya  Mihaf- 
lovna's.  You  know  he  is  her  first  favourite  now. 
The  time  will  come  when  she  will  part  with 
him — Pandalevsky  is  the  only  man  she  will 
never  part  with — but  now  he  is  supreme.  I 
saw  him,  to  be  sure !  He  was  sitting  there, — 
and  she  showed  me  off  to  him,  "  see,  my  good 
friend,  what  queer  fish  we  have  here ! "  But  I 
am  not  a  prize  horse,  to  be  trotted  out  on 
show,  so  I  took  myself  off.' 

*  But  how  did  you  come  to  be  there  ? ' 

*  About  a  boundary ;  but  that  was  all  non- 
sense ;  she  simply  wanted  to  have  a  look  at  my 
physiognomy.  She's  a  fine  lady, — that's  ex- 
planation enough !  * 

*  His  superiority  is  what  offends  you — that  *s 
what  it  is  ! '  began  Alexandra  Pavlovna  warmly, 
'that's  what  you  can't  forgive.  But  I  am 
convinced  that  besides  his  cleverness  he  must 
have  an  excellent  heart  as  well.  You  should 
see  his  eyes  when  he * 

*"  Of  purity  exalted  speaks,"  'quoted  Lezhnyov. 

*You  make  me  angry,  and  I  shall  cry.  I 
am  heartily  sorry  I  did  not  go  to  Darya 
Mihailovna's,  but  stopped  with  you.  You  don't 
94 


RUDIN 

deserve  it.    Leave  off  teasing  me/  she  added,  in 
an  appealing  voice,  '  You  had  much  better  tell 
me  about  his  youth.' 
'  Rudin's  youth  ? ' 

*  Yes,  of  course.  Didn't  you  tell  me  you 
knew  him  well,  and  had  known  him  a  long 
time?' 

Lezhnyov  got  up  and  walked  up  and  down 
the  room. 

*  Yes,'  he  began,  '  I  do  know  him  well.  You 
want  me  to  tell  you  about  his  youth?     Very 

well.    He  was  born  in  T ,  and  was  the  son  of 

a  poor  landowner,  who  died  soon  after.  He  was 
left  alone  with  his  mother.  She  was  a  very 
good  woman,  and  she  idolised  him  ;  she  lived 
on  nothing  but  oatmeal,  and  every  penny  she 
had  she  spent  on  him.  He  was  educated  in 
Moscow,  first  at  the  expense  of  some  uncle,  and 
afterwards,  when  he  was  grown  up  and  fully 
fledged,  at  the  expense  of  a  rich  prince  whose 
favour  he  had  courted — there,  I  beg  your  par- 
don, I  won't  do  it  again — with  whom  he  had 
made  friends.  Then  he  went  to  the  university. 
At  the  university  I  got  to  know  him  and  we 
became  intimate  friends.     I  will  tell  you  about 

95 


RUDIN 

our  life  in  those  days  some  other  time,  I  can*t 
now.     Then  he  went  abroad.  .  .  .' 

Lezhnyov  continued  to  walk  up  and  down  the 
room  ;  Alexandra  Pavlovna  followed  him  with 
her  eyes. 

*  While  he  was  abroad/  he  continued,  *  Rudin 
wrote  very  rarely  to  his  mother,  and  paid  her 
altogether  only  one  visit  for  ten  days.  .  .  .  The 
old  lady  died  without  him,  cared  for  by 
strangers;  but  up  to  her  death  she  never  took 
her  eyes  off  his  portrait.     I  went  to  see  her 

when  I  was  staying  in  T .     She  was  a  kind 

and  hospitable  woman  ;  she  always  used  to  feast 
me  on  cherry  jam.  She  loved  her  Mitya 
devotedly.  People  of  the  Petchorin  type 
tell  us  that  we  always  love  those  who  are  least 
capable  of  feeling  love  themselves;  but  it's 
my  idea  that  all  mothers  love  their  children 
especially  when  they  are  absent.  Afterwards 
I  met  Rudin  abroad.  Then  he  was  connected 
with  a  lady,  one  of  our  countrywomen,  a  blue- 
stocking, no  longer  young,  and  plain,  as  a 
bluestocking  is  bound  to  be.  He  lived  a  good 
while  with  her,  and  at  last  threw  her  over— or 
no,  I  beg  pardon,— she  threw  him  over.  It 
96 


RUDIN 

was  then  that  I  too  threw  him  over.  That 's 
all.' 

Lezhnyov  ceased  speaking,  passed  his  hand 
over  his  brow,  and  dropped  into  a  chair  as  if  he 
were  exhausted. 

'Do  you  know,  Mihailo  Mihailitch,*  began 
Alexandra  Pavlovna,  *  you  are  a  spiteful  person, 
I  see  ;  indeed  you  are  no  better  than  Pigasov. 
I  am  convinced  that  all  you  have  told  me  is 
true,  that  you  have  not  made  up  anything,  and 
yet  in  what  an  unfavourable  light  you  have 
put  it  all !  The  poor  old  mother,  her  devotion, 
her  solitary  death,  and  that  lady — What  does  it 
all  amount  to  ?  You  know  that  it 's  easy  to  put 
the  life  of  the  best  of  men  in  such  colours — and 
without  adding  anything,  observe — that  every 
one  would  be  shocked  !  But  that  too  is  slander 
of  a  kind  ! ' 

Lezhnyov  got  up  and  again  walked  about  the 
room. 

'  I  did  not  want  to  shock  you  at  all,  Alexan- 
dra Pavlovna,'  he  brought  out  at  last, '  I  am 
not  given  to  slander.  However,'  he  added,  after 
a  moment's  thought, '  in  reality  there  is  a  founda- 
tion of  fact  in  what  you  said.  I  did  not  mean 
97  G 


RUDIN 

to  slander  Rudin  ;  but— who  knows !  very 
likely  he  has  had  time  to  change  since  those 
days — very  possibly  I  am  unjust  to  him/ 

*  Ah  !  you  see.  So  promise  me  that  you  will 
renew  your  acquaintance  with  him,  and  will  get 
to  know  him  thoroughly  and  then  report  your 
final  opinion  of  him  to  me.' 

*  As  you  please.  But  why  are  you  so  quiet, 
SergeY  Pavlitch  ? ' 

Volintsev  started  and  raised  his  head,  as 
though  he  had  just  waked  up. 

'  What  can  I  say  ?  I  don't  know  him.  Besides, 
my  head  aches  to-day.' 

*  Yes,  you  look  rather  pale  this  evening,* 
remarked  Alexandra  Pavlovna ;  *  are  you  un- 
well > ' 

*  My  head  aches,'  repeated  Volintsev,  and  he 
went  away. 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  and  Lezhnyov  looked 
after  him,  and  exchanged  glances,  though  they 
said  nothing.  What  was  passing  in  Volintsev's 
heart  was  no  mystery  to  either  of  them. 


VI 

More  than  two  months  had  passed ;  during 
the  whole  of  that  period  Rudin  had  scarcely 
been  away  from  Dar>^a  Mihailovna's  house. 
She  could  not  get  on  without  him.  To  talk  to 
him  about  herself  and  to  listen  to  his  eloquence 
became  a  necessity  for  her.  He  would  have 
taken  his  leave  on  one  occasion,  on  the  ground 
that  all  his  money  was  spent ;  she  gave  him 
five  hundred  roubles.  He  borrowed  two  hundred 
roubles  more  from  Volintsev.  Pigasov  visited 
Darya  Mihailovna  much  less  frequently  than 
before ;  Rudin  crushed  him  by  his  presence. 
And  indeed  it  was  not  only  Pigasov  who  was 
conscious  of  an  oppression. 

'  I  don't  like  that  prig/  Pigasov  used  to  say, 

'he  expresses  himself  so  affectedly  like  a  hero 

of  a  romance.     If  he  says  *'  I."  he  stops  in  rapt 

admiration, "  I,  yes,  I !"  and  the  phrases  he  uses 

go 


RUDIN 


are  all  so  drawn-out ;  if  you  sneeze,  he  will 
begin  at  once  to  explain  to  you  exactly  why 
you  sneezed  and  did  not  cough.  If  he  praises  . 
you,  it's  just  as  if  he  were  creating  you  a 
prince.  If  he  begins  to  abuse  himself,  he 
humbles  himself  into  the  dust— come,  one 
thinks,  he  will  never  dare  to  face  the  light  of  day 
after  that.  Not  a  bit  of  it  1  It  only  cheers  him  up, 
as  if  he  'd  treated  himself  to  a  glass  of  grog.' 

Pandalevsky  was  a  little  afraid  of  Rudin,  and 
cautiously  tried -to  win  his  favour.  Volintsev  had 
got  on  to  curious  terms  with  him.    Rudin  called 
him  a  knight-errant,  and  sang  his  praises  to  his 
face  and  behind  his  back  ;  but  Volintsev  could 
not  bring  himself  to  like  him  and  always  felt  an 
involuntary  impatience    and  annoyance  when 
Rudin  devoted  himself  to  enlarging  on  his  good 
points  in  his  presence.     *  Is  he  making  fun  of 
me?'  he  thought,  and  he  felt  a  throb  of  hatred 
in  his  heart.     He  tried  to  keep  his  feelings  in 
check,  but  in  vain ;  he  was  jealous  of  him  on 
Natalya's  account.     And  Rudin  himself,  though 
he  always  welcomed   Volintsev  with  effusion, 
though   he   called   him    a    knight-errant,   and 
borrowed  money  from  him,  did  not  feel  exactly 


lOO 


RUDIN 

friendly  towards  him.  It  would  be  difficult  to 
define  the  feelings  of  these  two  men  when  they 
pressed  each  other's  hands  like  friends  and 
looked  into  each  other's  eyes. 

Bassistofif  continued  to  adore  Rudin,  and  to 
hang  on  every  word  he  uttered.  Rudin  paid  him 
very  little  attention.  Once  he  spent  a  whole 
morning  with  him,  discussing  the  weightiest 
problems  of  life,  and  awakening  his  keenest 
enthusiasm,  but  afterwards  he  took  no  further 
notice  of  him.  Evi^^utiy  it  was  only  a  phrase 
when  he  said  that  he  was  seeking  for  pure  and 
devoted  souls.  With  Lezhnyov,  who  began  to 
be  a  frequent  visitor  at  the  house,  Rudin  did 
not  enter  into  discussion ;  he  seemed  even  to 
avoid  him.  Lezhnyov,  on  his  part,  too,  treated 
him  coldly.  He  did  not,  however,  report  his 
final  conclusions  about  him,  which  somewhat 
disquieted  Alexandra  Pavlovna.  She  was  fasci- 
nated by  Rudin,  but  she  had  confidence  in 
Lezhnyov.  Every  one  in  Darya  Mihailovna's 
house  humoured  Rudin's  fancies ;  his  slightest 
preferences  were  carried  out  He  determined 
the  plans  for  the  day.  Not  a  single  partie  de 
plaisir  was  arranged  without  his  co-operation. 


RUDIN 

He  was  not,  however,  very  fond  of  any  kind  of 
impromptu  excursion  or  picnic,  and  took  part  in 
them  rather  as  grown-up  people  take  part  in 
children's  games,  with  an  air  of  kindly,  but 
rather  wearied,  friendliness.  He  took  interest 
in  everything  else,  however.  He  discussed  with 
Darya  Mihailovna  her  plans  for  the  estate,  the 
education  of  her  children,  her  domestic  arrange- 
ments, and  her  affairs  generally  ;  he  listened  to^ 
her  schemes,  and  was  not  bored  by  petty  details, 
and,  in  his  turn,  proposed  reforms  and  made 
suggestions.  Darya  Mihailovna  agreed  to  them 
in  words — and  that  was  all.  In  matters  of  busi- 
ness she  was  really  guided  by  the  advice  of  her 
bailiff — an  elderly,  one-eyed  Little  Russian,  a 
good-natured  and  crafty  old  rogue.  *  What  is 
old  is  fat,  what  is  new  is  thin,'  he  used  to  say, 
with  a  quiet  smile,  winking  his  solitary  eye. 

Next  to  Darya  Mihailovna,  it  was  Natalya 

to  whom  Rudin  used  to  talk  most  often  and  at 

most  length.     He  used  privately  to  give  her 

books,  to  confide  his  plans  to  her,  and  to  read 

her  the  first   pages   of  the   essays  and   other 

jfworks  he  had  in  his  mind.     Natalya  did  not 

I  always   fully  grasp   the   significance   of  them. 

1 02 


RUDIN 

lut  Rudin  did  not  seem  to  care  much  about 
ler  understanding,  so  long  as  she  listened  to 
lim.  His  intimacy  with  Natalya  was  not  alto- 
gether pleasing  to  Darya  Mihailovna.  *  How- 
ever,' she  thought,  *  let  her  chatter  away  with 
him  in  the  country.  She  amuses  him  as  a  little 
girl  now.  There  is  no  great  harm  in  it,  and,  at 
any  rate,  it  will  improve  her  mind.  At  Peters- 
burg I  will  soon  put  a  stop  to  it.' 

Darya  Mihailovna  was  mistaken.  Natalya  did 
not  chatter  to  Rudin  like  a  school-girl ;  she 
eagerly  drank  in  his  words,  she  tried  to  pene- 
trate to  their  full  significance ;  she  submitted 
her  thoughts,  her  doubts  to  him.;  he  Ьесяте 
her  leader,  her  guide.  So  far,  it  was  only  the 
brain  that  was  stirred,  but  in  the  young  the 
brain  is  not  long  stirred  alone.  What  sweet 
moments  Natalya  passed  when  at  times  in  the 
garden  on  the  seat,  in  the  transparent  shade  of 
the  aspen  tree,  Rudin  began  to  read  Goethe's 
Faust,  Hoffman,  or  Bettina's  letters,  or  Novalis, 
constantly  stopping  and  explaining  what  seemed 
obscure  to  her.  Like  almost  all  Russian  girls, 
she  spoke  German  badly,  but  she  understood  it 
well,  and  Rudin  was  thoroughly  imbued  with 


RUDIN 

German  poetry,  German  romanticism  and  philo- 
sophy, and  he  drew  her  after  him  into  these 
forbidden  lands.  Unimagined  splendours  were 
revealed  there  to  her  earnest  eyes  from  the 
pages  of  the  book  which  Rudin  held  on  his  knee ; 
a  stream  of  divine  visions,  of  new>  illuminating 
ideas,  seemed  to  flow  in  rhythmic  music  into  her 
soul,  and  in  her  heart,  moved  with  the  high 
delight  of  noble  feeling,  slowly  was  kindled  and 
fanned  into  a  flame  the  holy  spark  of  enthusiasm. 
""^  *  Tell  me,  Dmitri  Nikolaitch,'  she  began  one 
day,  sitting  by  the  window  at  her  embroidery- 
frame,  'shall  you  be  in  Petersburg  in  the  winter?* 

*  I  don't  know,'  replied  Rudin,  as  he  let  the 
book  he  had  been  glancing  through  fall  upon 
his  knee ;  4f  I  can  find  the  means,  I  shall  go.' 

He  spoke  dejectedly ;  he  felt  tired,  and  had 
done  nothing  all  day. 

*  I  think  you  are  sure  to  find  the  means.' 
Rudin  shook  his  head. 

*  You  think  so  !  * 

And  he  looked  away  expressively. 
Natalya  was  on  the  point  of  replying,  but  she 
checked  herself. 

*  Look,'  began  Rudin,  with  a  gesture  towards 

104 


RUDIN 

the  window,  *  do  you  see  that  apple-tree  ?  It  is 
broken  by  the  weight  and  abundance  of  its  own 
fruit.  ^  True-einblem  of  genius.' 

*  It  is  broken  because  it  had  no  support/ 
replied  Natalya 

*  I  understand  you,  Natalya  Alexyevna,  but  it 
is  not  so  easy  for  a  man  to  find  such  a  support.' 

'  I  should  think  the  sympathy  of  others  .  .  . 
in  any  case  isolation  always.  .  .  . ' 

Natalya  was  rather  confused,  and  flushed  a 
little. 

'  And  what  will  you  do  in  the  country  in  the 
winter  ? '  she  added  hurriedly. 

*  What  shall  I  do  ?  I  shall  finish  my  larger 
essay — you  know  it — on  "  Tragedy  in  Life  and 
in  Art."  I  described  to  you  the  outline  of  it 
the  day  before  yesterday,  and  shall  send  it  to 
you.' 

*  And  you  will  publish  it  ?  * 
*No.' 

*  No  ?     For  whose  sake  will  you  work  then  ? ' 

*  And  if  it  were  for  you  ? ' 
Natalya  dropped  her  eyes. 

*  It  would  be  far  above  me.' 

*VVhat,   may    I    ask,    is   the   subject   of  the 
105 


RUDIN 


essay?'  Bassistoff  inquired  modestly.     He  was 
sitting  a  little  distance  away. 

"'Tragedy  in  Life  and  in  Art,"'  repeated 
Rudin.  '  Mr.  Bassistoff  too  will  read  it.  But  I 
have  not  altogether  settled  on  the  fundamental 
motive.  I  have  not  so  far  worked  out  for  myself 
the  tragic  significance  of  love.' 

Rudin  liked  to  talk  of  love,  and  frequently 
did  so.  At  first,  at  the  word  *  love,'  Mile.  Bon- 
court  started,  and  pricked  up  her  eyes  like  an 
old  war-horse  at  the  sound  of  the  trumpet ;  but 
afterwards  she  had  grown  used  to  it,  and  now 
only  pursed  up  her  lips  and  took  snuff  at 
intervals. 

,     *  It  seems  to  me,'  said  Natalya  timidly,  '  that 

I  the  tragic  m Jove  jsjanre^ited^ 

^'**^ Not  at  all!'  replied  Rudin;  4hat  is  rather 

the  comic  side  of  love,  ...  The  question  must 

be  put  in  an  altogether  different  way  ...  one 

must   attack   it   more    deeply.  .  .  .  Love!'   he 

pursued,  '  all  is  mystery  in  love  ;  how  it  comes, 

how  it  develops,  how  it  passes  away.   Sometimes 

it  comes  all  at  once,  undoubting,  glad  as  day  ; 

sometimes  it  smoulders  like  fire   under  ashes, 

and  only  bursts  into  a  flame  in  the  heart  when 

io6 


RUDIN 

all  is  over  ;  sometimes  it  winds  its  way  into  the 
heart  like  a  serpent,  and  suddenly  slips  out  of  it 
again.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes ;  it  is  the  great  problem. 
But  who  does  love  in  our  days?  Who  is  so 
bold  as  to  love  ? ' 
And  Rudin  grew  pensive. 

*  Why  is  it  we  have  not  seen  Sergef  Pavlitch 
for  so  long  ? '  he  asked  suddenly. 

Natalya  blushed,  and  bent  her  head  over  her 
embroidery  frame. 

*  I  don't  know,'  she  murmured. 

'  What  a  splendid,  generous  fellow  he  is ! ' 
Rudin  declared,  standing  up.  *  It  is  one  of  the 
best  types  of  a  Russian  gentleman.' 

Mile.  Boncourt  gave  him  a  sidelong  look  out 
of  her  little  French  eyes. 

Rudin  walked  up  and  down  the  room. 

'  Have  you  noticed,'  he  began,  turning  sharply 
round  on  his  heels,  *  that  on  the  oak — and  the 
oak  is  a  strong  tree — the  old  leaves  only  fall  off 
when  the  new  leaves  begin  to  grow  } ' 

'  Yes/  answered  Natalya  slowly,  *  I  have 
noticed  it' 

'That  is  what  happens  to  an  old  love  in  a 
strong  heart ;  it  is  dead  already,  but  still  it 
1 07 


RUDIN 

holds  its  place  ;  only  another  new  love  can 
drive  it  out.' 

Natalya  made  no  reply. 

*  What  does  that  mean  ? '  she  was  think- 
ing. 

Rudin  stood  still,  tossed  his  hair  back,  and 
walked  away. 

Natalya  went  to  her  own  room.  She  sat  a 
(  long  while  on  her  little  bed  in  perplexity, 
•  pondering  over  Rudin's  last  words.  All  at 
once  she  clasped  her  hands  and  began  to  weep 
bitterly.  What  she  was  weeping  for — who  can 
tell  ?  She  herself  could  not  tell  why  her  tears 
were  falling  so  fast.  She  dried  them  ;  but  they 
flowed  afresh,  like  water  from  a  long-pent-up 
source. 

On  this  same  day  Alexandra  Pavlovna  had  a 
conversation  with  Lezhnyov  about  Rudin.  At 
first  he  bore  all  her  attacks  in  silence  ;  but 
at  last  she  succeeded  in  rousing  him  into 
talk. 

'  I  see,'  she  said  to  him,  '  you  dislike  Dmitri 
Nikolaitch,  as  you  did  before.  I  purposely 
refrained  from  questioning  you  till  now ;  but 
io8 


RUDIN 

now  you  have  had  time  to  make  up  your  mind 
whether  there  is  any  change  in  him,  and  I  want 
to  know  why  you  don't  Hke  him.' 

'Very  well,'  answered  Lezhnyov  with  his 
habitual  phlegm,  '  since  your  patience  is  ex- 
hausted ;  only  look  here,  don't  get  angry.' 

*  Come,  begin,  begin.' 

*  And  let  me  have  my  say  to  the  end.' 

*  Of  course,  of  course  ;  begin.* 

*Very  well,'  said  Lezhnyov,  dropping  lazily 
on  to  the  sofa  ;  *  I  admit  that  I  certainly  don't 
like  Rudin.     He  is  a  clever  fellow.' 

*  I  should  think  so.' 

*  He  is  a  remarkably  clever  man,  though  in 
reality  essentially  shallow.' 

*  It 's  easy  to  say  that.' 

*  Though  essentially  shallow,'  repeated  Lezh- 
nyov ;  '  but  there 's  no  great  harm  in  that ;  we 
are  all  shallow.  I  will  not  even  quarrel  with  him 
for  being  a  tyrant  at  heart,  lazy,  ill-informed  ! ' 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  clasped  her  hands. 

*  Rudin — ill-informed  ! '  she  cried. 

*  Ill-informed !'  repeated  Lezhnyov  in  precisely 
the  same  voice,  '  that  he  likes  to  live  at  other 
people's  exp<?Qse,  to  cut  a  good  figure,  and  so 

log 


RUDIN 

forth — all  that's  natural  enough.     But  what's 
wrong  is,  that  he  is  as  cold  as  ice/ 

*  He  cold  !  that  fiery  soul  cold  ! '  interrupted 
Alexandra  Pavlovna. 

'  Yes,  cold  as  ice,  and  he  knows  it,  and  pre- 
tends to  be  fiery.  What's  bad,'  pursued 
Lezhnyov,  gradually  growing  warm,  *  he  is  play- 
ing  a  dangerous  game — not  dangerous  for  him, 
of  course  ;  he  does  not  risk  a  farthing,  not  a 
straw  on  it — but  others  stake  their  soul.' 

*  Whom  and  what  are  you  talking  of?  I  don't 
understand  you,'  said  Alexandra  Pavlovna. 

*  What 's  bad,  he  isn't  honest.  He 's  a 
clever  man,  certainly  ;  he  ought  to  know  the 
value  of  his  own  words,  and  he  brings  them  out 
as  if  they  were  worth  something  to  him.  I 
don't  dispute  that  he 's  a  fine  speaker,  but  not 
in  the  Russian  style.  And  indeed,  after  all, 
fine  speaking  is  pardonable  in  a  boy,  but  at  his 
years  it  is  disgraceful  to  take  pleasure  in  the 
sound  of  his  own  voice,  and  to  show  off!* 

*I  think,  Mihailo  Mihailitch,  it's  all  the 
same  for  those  who  hear  him,  whether  he  is 
showing  off  or  not.' 

*  Excuse  me,  Alexandra  Pavlovna,  it  is  not  all 

no 


RUDIN 

the  same.  One  man  says  a  word  to  me  and  it 
thrills  me  all  over,  another  may  say  the  same 
thing,  or  something  still  finer — and  I  don't  prick 
up  my  ears.     Why  is  that  ? ' 

'  You  don't,  perhaps/  put  in  Alexandra 
Pavlovna. 

*  I  don't,'  retorted  Lezhnyov,  *  though  perhaps 
my  ears  are  long  enough.  The  point  is,  that 
Rudin's  words  seem  to  remain  mere  words, 
and  never  to  pass  into  deeds — anH'lneanwhiie 
even  words  may  trouble  a  young  heartjjmay  be 


thej^inofrtT 

*  But  whom  do  you  mean,  Mihailo  Mihai- 
litch.?' 

Lezhnyov  paused. 

'  Do  you  want  to  know  whom  I  mean, 
Natalya  Alexyevna  ? ' 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  was  taken  aback  for  a 
moment,  but  she  began  to  smile  the  instant 
after. 

'Really,'  she  began,  'what  queer  ideas  you 
always  have  !  Natalya  is  still  a  child  ;  and 
besides,  if  there  were  anything  in  what  you  say, 
do  you  suppose  Darya  Mihailovna ' 

*  Darya   Mihailovna   is   an   egoist   to   begin 

III 


RUDIN 

With,  and  lives  for  herself ;  and  then  she  is  so 
convinced  of  her  own  skill  in  educating  her 
children  that  it  does  not  even  enter  her  head  to 
feel  uneasy  about  them.  Nonsense  !  how  is  it 
possible  :  she  has  but  to  give  one  nod,  one 
majestic  glance — and  all  is  over,  all  is  obedience 
again.  That 's  what  that  lady  imagines  ;  she 
fancies  herself  a  female  Maecenas,  a  learned 
woman,  and  God  knows  what,  but  in  fact  she  is 
nothing  more  than  a  silly,  worldly  old  woman. 
But  Natalya  is  not  a  baby;  believe  me,  she 
thinks  more,  and  more  profoundly  too,  than 
you  and  I  do.  And  that  her  true,  passionate, 
ardent  nature  must  fall  in  with  an  actor,  a  flirt 
like  this  !  But  of  course  that 's  in  the  natural 
order  of  things.' 

*  A  flirt  1  Do  you  mean  that  he  is  a 
flirt.?' 

'  Of  course  he  is.  And  tell  me  yourself, 
Alexandra  Pavlovna,  what  is  his  position  in 
Darya  Mihailovna's  house .?  To  be  the  idol, 
the  oracle  of  the  household,  to  meddle  in  the 
arrangements,  all  the  gossip  and  petty  trifles  of 
the  house — is  that  a  dignified  position  for  a  man 
to  be  in  ? ' 

иг 


RUDIN 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  looked  at  Lezhnyov  in 

surprise. 

*  I  don't  know  you,  Mihailo  Mihailitch/  she 
began  to  say.  'You  are  flushed  and  excited. 
I  believe  there  must  be  something  else  hidden 
under  this.* 

'  Oh,  so  that  *s  it !  Tell  a  woman  the  truth 
from  conviction,  and  she  will  never  rest  easy  till 
she  has  invented  some  petty  outside  cause  quite 
beside  the  point  which  has  made  you  speak  in 
precisely  that  manner  and  no  other.' 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  began  to  get  angry. 

*  Bravo,  Monsieur  Lezhnyov  !  You  begin  to 
be  as  bitter  against  women  as  Mr.  Pigasov  ;  but 
you  may  say  what  you  tike,  penetrating  as  you 
are,  it's  hard  for  me  to  believe  that  you  under- 
stand every  one  and  everything.  I  think  you 
are  mistaken.  According  to  your  ideas,  Rudin 
is  a  kind  of  Tartuffe.' 

*  No,  the  point  is,  that  he  is  not  even  a 
Tartuffe.  Tartuffe  at  least  knew  what  he  was 
aiming  at ;  but  this  fellow,  for  all  his  clever- 
ness  ' 

'  Well,  well,  what  of  him  ?  Finish  your 
sentence,  you  unjust,  horrid  man  ! ' 

113  H 


RUDIN 

Lezhnyov  got  up. 

*  Listen,  Alexandra  Pavlovna/  he  began,  it 
is  you  who  are  unjust,  not  I.  You  are  cross 
with  me  for  my  harsh  criticism  of  Rudin  ;  I 
have  the  right  to  speak  harshly  of  him  !  I 
have  paid  dearly  enough,  perhaps,  for  that 
privilege.  I  know  him  well :  I  lived  a  long 
while  with  him.  You  remember  I  promised  to 
tell  you  some  time  about  our  life  at  Moscow. 
It  is  clear  that  I  must  do  so  now.  But  will 
you  have  the  patience  to  hear  me  out  ? ' 

*  Tell  me,  tell  me  I ' 

*  Very  well,  then.' 

Lezhnyov  began  walking  with  measured 
steps  about  the  room,  coming  to  a  standstill 
at  times  with  his  head  bent. 

*  You  know,  perhaps,'  he  began,  *  or  perhaps 
you  don't  know,  that  I  was  left  an  orphan  at 
an  early  age,  and  by  the  time  I  was  seventeen 
I  had  no  one  in  authority  over  me.  I  lived  at 
my  aunt's  at  Moscow,  and  did  just  as  I  liked. 
As  a  boy  I  was  rather  silly  and  conceited,  and 
liked  to  brag  and  show  off.  After  my  entrance 
at  the  university  I  behaved  like  a  regular 
schoolboy,  and  soon  got  into  a  scrape.     1  won't 

114 


RUDIN 

tell  you  about  it ;  it 's  not  worth  while.  But 
I  told  a  lie  about  it,  and  rather  a  shameful  lie. 
It  all  came  out,  and  I  was  put  to  open  shame. 
I  lost  my  head  and  cried  like  a  child.  It 
happened  at  a  friend's  rooms  before  a  lot  of 
fellow-students.  They  all  began  to  laugh  at 
me,  all  except  one  student,  who,  observe,  had 
been  more  indignant  with  me  than  any,  so  long 
as  I  had  been  obstinate  and  would  not  confess 
my  deceit.  He  took  pity  on  me,  perhaps  ; 
anyway,  he  took  me  by  the  arm  and  led  me 
away  to  his  lodging.' 

'  Was  that  Rudin  ? '  asked  Alexandra  Pav- 
lovna. 

'  No,  it  was  not  Rudin  ...  it  was  a  man  .  .  . 
he  is  dead  now  ...  he  was  an  extraordinary 
man.  His  name  was  Pokorsky.  To  describe 
him  in  a  few  words  is  beyond  my  powers, 
but  directly  one  begins  to  speak  of  him,  one 
does  not  want  to  speak  of  any  one  else.  He 
had  a  noble,  pure  heart,  and  an  intelligence  such 
as  I  have  never  met  since.  Pokorsky  lived  in 
a  little,  low-pitched  room,  in  an  attic  of  an  old 
wooden  house.  He  was  very  poor,  and  supported 
himself  somehow  by  giving  lessons.  Sometimes 
IIS 


RUDIN 

he  had  not  even  a  cup  of  tea  to  offer  to  his 
friends,  and  his  only  sofa  was  so  shaky  that  it 
was  like  being  on  board  ship.  But  in  spite  of 
these  discomforts  a  great  many  people  used  to 
go  to  see  him.  Every  one  loved  him  ;  he  drew 
all  hearts  to  him.  You  would  not  believe  what 
sweetness  and  happiness  there  was  in  sitting  in 
his  poor  little  room  !  It  was  in  his  room  I  met 
Rudin.  He  had  already  parted  from  his  prince 
before  then.' 

'What  was  there  so  exceptional  in  this 
Pokorsky?'  asked  Alexandra  Pavlovna. 

'  How  can  I  tell  you  ?  Poetry  and  truth — 
that  was  what  drew  all  of  us  to  him.  For  all  his 
clear,  broad  intellect  he  was  as  sweet  and  simple 
as  a  child.  Even  now  I  have  his  bright  laugh 
ringing  in  my  ears,  and  at  the  same  time  he 

Burnt  his  midnight  lamp 
Before  the  holy  and  the  true, 

as  a  dear  half-cracked  fellow,  the  poet  of  our 
set,  expressed  it' 

*  And  how  did  he  talk  ? '  Alexandra  Pavlovna 
questioned  again. 

*  He  talked  well  when  he  was  in  the  mood, 

xi6 


RUDIN 

but  not  remarkably  so.     Rudin  even  then  was 
twenty  times  as  eloquent  as  he/ 

Lezhnyov  stood  still  and  folded  his  arms. 

*  Pokorsky  and  Rudin  were  very  unlike. 
There  was  more  flash  and  brilliance  about 
Rudin,  more  fluency,  and  perhaps  more  enthu- 
siasm. He  appeared  far  more  gifted  than 
Pokorsky,  and  yet  all  the  while  he  was  a  poor 
creature  by  comparison.  Rudin  was  excellent  at 
developing  any  idea,  he  was  capital  in  argument, 
but  his  ideas  did  not  come  from  his  own  brain  ; 
he  borrowed  them  from  others,  especially  from 
Pokorsky.  Pokorsky  was  quiet  and  soft — even 
weak  in  appearance — and  he  was  fond  of  women 
to  distraction,  and  fond  of  dissipation,  and  he 
would  never  take  an  insult  from  any  one.  Rudin , 
seemed  full  of  fire,  and  courage,  and  life,  but  at' 
heart  he  was  cold  and  almost  a  coward,  until 
his  vanity  was  touched,  then  he  would  not 
stop  at  anything.  He  always  tried  to  get 
an  ascendency  over  people,  but  he  got  it  in 
the  name  of  general  principles  and  ideas,  and 
certainly  had  a  great  influence  over  many.  To 
tell  the  truth,  no  one  loved  him  ;  I  was  the  only 
one,  perhaps,  who  was  attached  to  him.  They 
117 


RUDIN 

submitted  to  his  yoke,  but  all  were  devoted  to 
Pokorsky.  Rudin  never  refused  to  argue  and 
discuss  with  any  one  he  met.  He  did  not  read 
very  much,  though  far  more  anyway  than  Pokor- 
sky and  all  the  rest  of  us  ;  besides,  he  had  a 
well-arranged  intellect,  and  a  prodigious  memory, 
and  what  an  effect  that  has  on  young  people ! 
They  must  have  generalisations,  conclusions, 
incorrect  if  you  like,  perhaps,  but  still  conclu- 
sions !  A  perfectly  sincere  man  never  suits 
them.  Try  to  tell  young  people  that  you 
cannot  give  them  the  whole  truth,  and  they  will 
not  listen  to  you.  But  you  mustn't  deceive 
them  either.  You  want  to  half  believe  yourself 
that  you  are  in  possession  of  the  truth.  That 
was  why  Rudin  had  such  a  powerful  effect  on 
all  of  us.  I  told  you  just  now,  you  know,  that 
he  had  not  read  much,  but  he  read  philosophi- 
cal books,  and  his  brain  was  so  constructed  that 
he  extracted  at  once  from  what  he  had  read  all 
the  general  principles,  penetrated  to  the  very 
root  of  the  thing,  and  then  made  deductions 
from  it  in  all  directions — consecutive,  brilliant, 
sound  ideas,  throwing  up  a  wide  horizon  to 
the  soul  Our  set  consisted  then — it  's  only  fair 
ii8 


RUDIN 

to  say — of  boys,  and  not  well-informed  boys. 
Philosophy,  art,  science,  and  even  life  itself  were 
all  mere  words  to  us — ideas  if  you  like,  fascina- 
ting and  magnificent  ideas,  but  disconnected 
and  isolated.  The  general  connection  of  those 
ideas,  the  general  principle  of  the  universe  we 
knew  nothing  of,  and  had  had  no  contact  with, 
though  we  discussed  it  vaguely,  and  tried  to 
form  an  idea  of  it  for  ourselves.  As  we  listened 
to  Rudin,  we  felt  for  the  first  time  as  if  we  had 
grasped  it  at  last,  this  general  connection,  as  if 
a  veil  had  been  lifted  at  last !  Even  admitting 
he  was  not  uttering  an  original  thought — what 
of  that !  Order  and  harmony  seemed  to  be 
established  in  all  we  knew ;  all  that  had  been 
disconnected  seemed  to  fall  into  a  whole,  to 
take  shape  and  grow  like  a  building  before  our 
eyes,  all  was  full  of  light  and  inspiration  every- 
where. .  .  .  Nothing  remained  meaningless  and 
undesigned,  in  everything  wise  design  and 
beauty  seemed  apparent,  everything  took  a 
clear  and  yet  mystic  significance  ;  every 
isolated  event  of  life  fell  into  harmony,  and 
with  a  kind  of  holy  awe  and  reverence  and 
sweet  emotion  we  felt  ourselves  to  be,  as  it 
119 


RUDIN 

were,  the  living  vessels  of  eternal  truth,  her 
instruments  destined  for  some  great  .  .  . 
Doesn't  it  all  seem  very  ridiculous  to  you  ? ' 

*  Not  the  least ! '  replied  Alexandra  Pavlovna 
slowly ;  *  why  should  you  think  so  ?  I  don't 
altogether  understand  you,  but  I  don't  think  it 
ridiculous.' 

*  We  have  had  time  to  grow  wiser  since  then, 
of  course/  Lezhnyov  continued,  '  all  that  may 
seem  childish  to  us  now. .  .  .  But,  I  repeat,  we  all 
owed  a  great  deal  to  Rudin  then.  Pokorsky 
was  incomparably  nobler  than  he,  no  question 
about  it ;  Pokorsky  breathed  fire  and  strength 
into  all  of  us  ;  but  he  was  often  depressed  and 
silent.  He  was  nei-vous  and  not  robust ;  but 
when  he  did  stretch  his  wings— good  heavens  ! 
— what  a  flight !  up  to  the  very  height  of  the 
blue  heavens  !  And  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
pettiness  in  Rudin,  handsome  and  stately  as 
he  was  ;  he  was  a  gossip,  indeed,  and  he  loved 
to  have  a  hand  in  everything,  arranging  and 
explaining  everything.  His  fussy  activity  was 
inexhaustible — he  was  a  diplomatist  by  nature. 
I  speak  of  him  as  I  knew  him  then.  But  un- 
luckily he  has  not  altered.     On  the  other  hand. 

1 20 


RUDIN 

his  ideals  haven't  altered  at  five-and-thirty ! 
It's  not  every  one  who  can  say  that  of  him- 
self!' 

*  Sit  down/  said  Alexandra  Pavlovna,  *  why 
do  you  keep  moving  about  like  a  pendulum  ? ' 

*  I  like  it  better/  answered  Lezhnyov.  *  Well, 
after  I  had  come  into  Pokorsky's  set,  I  may 
tell  you,  Alexandra  Pavlovna,  I  was  quite  trans- 
formed ;  I  grew  humble  and  anxious  to  learn  ; 
I  studied,  and  was  happy  and  reverent — in  a 
word,  I  felt  just  as  though  I  had  entered  a  holy 
temple.  And  really,  when  I  recall  our  gather- 
ings, upon  my  word  there  was  much  that  was 
fine,  even  touching,  in  them.  Imagine  a  party 
of  five  or  six  lads  gathered  together,  one  tallow 
candle  burning.  The  tea  was  dreadful  stuff,  and 
the  cakewas  stale,  very  stale ;  but  you  should  have 
seen  our  faces,  you  should  have  heard  our  talk ! 
Eyes  were  sparkling  with  enthusiasm,  cheeks 
flushed,  and  hearts  beating,  while  we  talked  of 
God,  and  truth,  of  the  future  of  humanity,  and 
poetry  .  .  .  often  what  we  said  was  absurd,  and 
we  were  in  ecstasies  over  nonsense ;  but  what 
of  that  .^ .  .  .  Pokorsky  sat  with  crossed  legs,  his 
pale  cheek  on  his  hand,  and  his  eyes  seemed 

121 


RUDIN 

to  shed  light.  Rudin  stood  in  the  middle  of 
the  room  and  spoke,  spoke  splendidly,  for  all 
the  world  like  the  young  Denvosthenes  by  the 
resounding  sea ;  our  pDet,  Subotin  of  the  dis- 
hevelled locks,  would  now  and  then  throw  out 
some  abrupt  exclamation  as  though  in  his 
sleep,  while  Scheller,  a  student  forty  years  old, 
the  son  of  a  German  pastor,  who  had  the  repu- 
tation among  us  of  a  profound  thinker,  thanks 
to  his  eternal,  inviolable  silence,  held  his  peace 
with  more  rapt  solemnity  than  usual  ;  even  the 
lively  Shtchitof,  the  Aristophanes  of  our  re- 
unions, was  subdued  and  did  no  more  than 
smile,  while  two  or  three  novices  listened  with 
reverent  transports.  .  .  .  And  the  night  seemed  to 
fly  by  on  wings.  It  was  already  the  grey  morn- 
ing when  we  separated,  moved,  happy,  aspiring 
and  sober  (there  was  no  question  of  wine 
among  us  at  such  times)  with  a  kind  of  sweet 
weariness  in  our  souls  .  .  .  and  one  even  looked 
up  at  the  stars  with  a  kind  of  confidence,  as 
though  they  had  become  nearer  and  more  com- 
prehensible. Ah  1  that  was  a  glorious  time, 
and  I  can't  bear  to  believe  that  it  was  alto- 
gether wasted  I     And  it  was  not  wasted — not 

122 


RUDIN 

even  for  those  whose  h'ves  were  sordid  after- 
wards. How  often  have  I  chanced  to  come 
across  such  old  college  friends !  You  would 
think  the  man  had  sunk  altogether  to  the  brute, 
but  one  had  only  to  utter  Pokorsky's  name 
before  him  and  every  trace  of  noble  feeling  in 
him  was  stirred  at  once ;  it  was  like  uncorking 
a  forgotten  phial  of  fragrance  in  some  dark  and 
dirty  room.' 

Lezhnyov  stopped ;  his  colourless  face  was 
flushed. 

'And  what  was  the  cause  of  your  quarrel 
with  Rudin  ? '  said  Alexandra  Pavlovna,  look- 
ing wonderingly  at  Lezhnyov. 

*  I  did  not  quarrel  with  him,  but  I  parted  from 
him  when  I  came  to  know  him  thoroughly 
abroad.  But  I  might  well  have  quarrelled  with 
him  in  Moscow,  he  did  me  a  bad  turn  there.' 

'  What  was  that  ? ' 

*  It  was  like  this.  I — how  can  I  tell  you? — 
it  does  not  accord  very  well  with  my  appearance, 
but  I  was  always  much  given  to  falling  in  love.' 

'  You  ? ' 

*  Yes,  I  was  indeed.  That 's  a  curious  idea, 
isn't  it  ?     But,  anyway,  it  was  so.     Well,  so  I 

123 


RUDIN 

fell  in  love  in  those  days  with  a  very  pretty 
young  girl.  .  .  .  But  why  do  you  look  at  me  like 
that  ?  I  could  tell  you  something  about  myself 
a  great  deal  more  extraordinary  than  that ! ' 

'And  what  is  that  something,  if  I  may  know  ? ' 

*Oh,  just  this.  In  those  Moscow  days  I  used 
to  have  a  tryst  at  nights — with  whom,  would 
you  imagine?  with  a  young  lime-tree  at  the 
bottom  of  my  garden.  I  used  to  embrace  its 
slender  and  graceful  trunk,  and  I  felt  as  though 
I  were  embracing  all  nature,  and  my  heart 
melted  and  expanded  as  though  it  really  were 
taking  in  the  whole  of  nature.  That 's  what  1 
was  then.  And  do  you  think,  perhaps,  I  didn't 
write  verses  ?  Why,  I  even  composed  a  whole 
drama  in  imitation  of  Manfred.  Among  the 
characters  was  a  ghost  with  blood  on  his  breast, 
and  not  his  own  blood,  observe,  but  the  blood  of 
all  humanity.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  you  need  not  wonder 
at  that.  But  I  was  beginning  to  tell  you  about 
my  love  affair.  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  a 
girl ' 

*  And  you  gave  up  your  trysts  with  the  lime- 
tree  } '  inquired  Alexandra  Pavlovna. 

*Yes;  I  gave  them  up.  This  girl  was  a 
124 


RUDIN 

sweet,  ^ood  creature,  with  clear,  lively  eyes  and 
a  ringing  voice.' 

'You  give  an  excellent  description  of  her/ 
commented  Alexandra  Pavlovna  with  a  smile. 

*  You  are  such  a  severe  critic,'  retorted  Lezhn- 
yov.  *  Well,  this  girl  lived  with  her  old  father. . . . 
But  I  will  not  enter  into  details  ;  I  will  only  tell 
you  that  this  girl  was  so  kind-hearted,  if  you 
only  asked  her  for  half  a  cup  of  tea  she  would 
give  it  you  brimming  over !  Two  days  after 
first  meeting  her  I  was  wild  over  her,  and  on 
the  seventh  day  I  could  hold  out  no  longer,  and 
confessed  it  in  full  to  Rudin.  At  that  time  I  was 
completely  under  his  influence,  and  his  influence, 
I  will  tell  you  frankly,  was  beneficial  in  many 
things.  He  was  the  first  person  who  did  not 
treat  me  with  contempt,  but  tried  to  lick  me 
into  shape.  I  loved  Pokorsky  passionately, 
and  felt  a  kind  of  awe  before  his  purity  of 
soul,  but  I  came  closer  to  Rudin.  When  he 
heard  about  my  love,  he  fell  into  an  indescrib- 
able ecstasy,  congratulated  me,  embraced  me, 
and  at  once  fell  to  disserting  and  enlarging 
upon  all  the  dignity  of  my  new  position.  I 
pricked  up  my  ears.  .  .  .  Well,  you  know  how 
125 


RUDI4 

he  can  talk.  His  words  had  an  extraordi- 
nary effect  on  me.  I  at  once  assumed  an 
amazing  consequence  in  my  own  eyes,  and  I 
put  on  a  serious  exterior  and  left  off  laughing. 
I  remember  I  used  even  to  go  about  at  that  time 
with  a  kind  of  circumspection,  as  though  I  had 
a  sacred  chalice  within  me,  full  of  a  priceless 
liquid,  which  I  was  afraid  of  spilling  over.  .  .  . 
I  was  very  happy,  especially  as  I  found  favour 
in  her  eyes.  Rudin  wanted  to  make  my  beloved's 
acquaintance,  and  I  myself  almost  insisted  on 
presenting  him.' 

*  Ah  !  I  see,  I  see  now  what  it  is,'  interrupted 
Alexandra  Pavlovna.  '  Rudin  cut  you  out  with 
your  charmer,  and  you  have  never  been  able  to 
forgive  him.  ...  I  am  ready  to  take  a  wager  I 
am  right ! ' 

*  You  would  lose  your  wager,  Alexandra 
Pavlovna  ;  you  are  wrong.  Rudin  did  not  cut 
me  out ;  he  did  not  even  try  to  cut  me  out ; 
but,  all  the  same,  he  put  an  end  to  my  happi- 
ness, though,  looking  at  it  in  cool  blood,  I  am 
ready  to  thank  him  for  it  now.  But  I  nearly 
went  out  of  my  mind  at  the  time.  Rudin  did 
not  in  the  least  wish  to  injure  me — quite  the 

126 


RUDIN 

contrary !  But  through  his  cursed  habit  of  pin- 
ning every  emotion — his  own  and  other  people's 
— with  a  phrase,  as  one  pins  butterflies  in  a  case, 
he  set  to  making  clear  to  ourselves  our  relations 
to  one  another,  and  how  we  ought  to  treat  each 
other,  and  arbitrarily  compelled  us  to  take  stock 
of  our  feelings  and  ideas,  praised  us  and  blamed 
us,  even  entered  into  a  correspondence  with  us — 
fancy !  Well,  he  succeeded  in  completely  dis- 
concerting us !  I  should  hardly,  even  then^ 
have  married  the  young  lady  (I  had  so  much 
sense  still  left),  but,  at  least,  we  might  have 
spent  some  months  happily  a  la  Paul  et  Vir- 
ginie ;  but  now  came  strained  relations,  mis- 
understandings of  every  kind.  It  ended  by 
Rudin,  one  fine  morning,  arriving  at  the  convic- 
tion that  it  was  his  sacred  duty  as  a  friend  to 
acquaint  the  old  father  with  everything — and 
he  did  so/ 

'  Is  it  possible  ? '  cried  Alexandra  Pavlovna. 

*Yes,  and  did  it  with  my  consent,  observe. 
That 's  where  the  wonder  comes  in !  .  .  .  I 
remember  even  now  what  a  chaos  my  brain 
was  in  ;  everything  was  simply  turning  round  * 
things  looked  as  they  do  in  a  camera  obscura — 
127 


RUDIN 

white  seemed  black  and  black  white  ;  falsehood 
was  truth,  and  a  whim  was  duty.  .  .  .  Ah !  even 
now  I  feel  shame  at  the  recollection  of  it  I 
Rudin — he  never  flagged — not  a  bit  of  it !  He 
soared  through  all  sorts  of  misunderstandings 
and  perplexities,  like  a  swallow  over  a  pond.' 

*  And  so  you  parted  from  the  girl  ? '  asked 
Alexandra  Pavlovna,  naYvely  bending  her  head 
on  one  side,  and  raising  her  eyebrows. 

*We  parted — and  it  was  a  horrible  parting — 
outrageously  awkward  and  public,  quite  un- 
necessarily public.  ...  I  wept  myself,  and  she 
wept,  and  I  don't  know  what  passed.  ...  It 
seemed  as  though  a  kind  of  Gordian  knot  had 
been  tied.  It  had  to  be  cut,  but  it  was  painful ! 
However,  everything  in  the  world  is  ordered  for 
the  best.  She  has  married  an  excellent  man, 
and  is  well  off  now.' 

*  But  confess,  you  have  never  been  able  to  for- 
give Rudin,  all  the  same,'  Alexandra  Pavlovna 
was  beginning. 

'  Not  at  all ! '  interposed  Lezhnyov,  *  why,  I 

cried  like  a  child  when  he  was  going  abroad. 

Still,  to  tell  the  truth,  even  then  there  was  the 

germ  in  my  heart     And  when  I  met  him  later 

128 


RUDIN 

abroad  .  .  .  well,  by  that  time  I  had  grown 
older.  .  .  .  Rudin  struck  me  in  his  true  light' 
'  What  was  it  exactly  you  discovered  in  him  ? ' 
*Why,  all  I  have  been  telling  you  the  last 
hour.  But  enough  of  him.  Perhaps  everything 
will  turn  out  all  right.  I  only  wanted  to  show 
you  that,  if  I  do  judge  him  hardly,  it  is  not 
because  I  don't  know  him.  ...  As  far  as  con- 
cerns Natalya  Alexyevna,  I  won't  say  any  more, 
but  you  should  observe  your  brother.' 

*  My  brother  !     Why  ? ' 

*Why,  look  at  him.  Do  you  really  notice 
nothing?' 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  looked  down. 

'  You  are  right,'  she  assented.  '  Certainly — 
my  brother — for  some  time  he  has  not  been 
himself.  .  .  .  But  do  you  really  think ' 

*  Hush !  I  think  he  is  coming,'  whispered 
Lezhnyov.  *  But  Natalya  is  not  a  child,  believe 
me,  though  nnlnrkily  sht^  is  ^s  inexperienced  as  a 
child.    You  will  see,  that  girl  will  astonish  us  all.' 

*  In  what  way  ? ' 

*0h!   in  this  way.  .  .  .  Do  you   know  it's^. 
precisely  girls  like  that  who  drown  themselves,  у 
take  poison,  and  so  forth  >    Don't  be  misled  by 
129 


It's, 
2lves,y  - 
;dby\ 


RUDIN 

her  looking  so  calm.     Her  passions  are  strong, 
and  her  character — my  goodness  ! ' 

*  Come !  I  think  you  are  indulging  in  a  flight 
of  fancy  now.  To  a  phlegmatic  person  like 
you,  I  suppose  even  I  seem  a  volcano?' 

'  Oh,  no  ! '  answered  Lezhnyov,  with  a  smile. 
*  And  as  for  character — you  have  no  character 
at  all,  thank  God  !  * 

*  What  impertinence  is  that?' 

*  That  ?  It 's  the  highest  compliment,  believe 
me.' 

Volintsev  came  in  and  looked  suspiciously  at 
Lezhnyov  and  his  sister.  He  had  grown  thin 
of  late.  They  both  began  to  talk  to  him,  but 
he  scarcely  smiled  in  response  to  their  jests, 
and  looked,  as  Pigasov  once  said  of  him,  like  a 
melancholy  hare.  But  there  has  certainly  never 
been  a  man  in  the  world  who,  at  some  time 
in  his  life,  has  not  looked  worse  than  that. 
Volintsev  felt  that  Natalya  was  drifting  away 
from  him,  and  with  her  it  seemed  as  il  the  earth 
was  giving  way  under  his  feet. 


130 


VII 

The  next  day  was  Sunday,  and  Natalya  got  up 
late.  The  day  before  she  had  been  very  silent 
all  day  ;  she  was  secretly  ashamed  of  her  tears, 
and  she  slept  very  badly.  Sitting  half-dressed 
at  her  little  piano,  at  times  she  played  some 
chords,  hardly  audibly  for  fear  of  waking  Mile. 
Boncourt,  and  then  let  her  forehead  fall  on  the 
cold  keys  and  remained  a  long  while  motionless. 
She  kept  thinking,  not  of  Rudin  himself,  but 
of  some  word  he  had  uttered,  and  she  was 
wholly  buried  in  her  own  thought.  Sometimes 
she  recollected  Volintsev.  She  knew  that  he 
loved  her.  But  her  mind  did  not  dwell  on  him 
more  than  an  instant.  .  .  .  She  felt  a_  strange 
agit^ation^  In  the  morning  she  dressed  hurriedly 
and  went  down,  and  after  saying  good-morning 
to  her  mother,  seized  an  opportunity  and  went 
out  alone  into  the  garden.  ...  It  was  a  hot  day, 
bright  and  sunny  in  spite  of  occasional  showers 
131 


RUDIN 

of  rain.  Slight  vapoury  clouds  sailed  smoothly 
over  the  clear  sky,  scarcely  obscuring  the  sun, 
and  at  times  a  downpour  of  rain  fell  suddenly 
in  sheets,  and  was  as  quickly  over.  The  thickly 
falling  drops,  flashing  like  diamonds,  fell  swiftly 
with  a  kind  of  dull  thud  ;  the  sunshine  glistened 
through  their  sparkling  drops  ;  the  grass,  that 
had  been  rustling  in  the  wind,  was  still,  thirstily 
drinking  in  the  moisture  ;  the  drenched  trees 
were  languidly  shaking  all  their  leaves  ;  the 
birds  were  busily  singing,  and  it  was  pleasant 
to  hear  their  twittering  chatter  mingling  with 
the  fresh  gurgle  and  murmur  of  the  running 
rain-water.  The  dusty  roads  were  steaming  and 
slightly  spotted  by  the  smart  strokes  of  the 
thick  drops.  Then  the  clouds  passed  over,  a 
slight  breeze  began  to  stir,  and  the  grass  began 
to  take  tints  of  emerald  and  gold.  The  trees 
seemed  more  transparent  with  their  wet  leaves 
clinging  together.  A  strong  scent  arose  from 
all  around. 
]  The  sky  was  almost  cloudless  again  when 
1  Natalya  came  into  tllQ  gprden.  It  was  full 
!  of  s'weetness  and  peace — that  soothing,  blissful 
t  peace  in  which  the  heart  of  man  is  stirred  by  a 
132 


RUDIN 

sweet  languor  of  undefined  desire  and   secret 
emotion. 

Natalya  walked  along  a  long  line  of  silver 
poplars  beside  the  pond  ;  suddenly,  as  if  he  had 
sprung  out  of  the  earth, ^udin  stood  before  her. 
She  was  confused.     He  looked  her  in  the  face. 

*  You  are  alone  ? '  he  inquired. 

*  Yes,  I  am  alone,'  replied  Natalya,  *  but  I  was 
going  back  directly.     It  is  time  I  was  home.' 

'  I  will  go  with  you.' 

And  he  \valked  along  beside  her. 

*  You  seem  melancholy,'  he  said. 

*  I — I  was  just  going  to  say  that  I  thought 
you  were  out  of  spirits.' 

'  Very  likely — it  is  often  so  with  me.  It  is 
more  excusable  in  me  than  in  you.' 

*  Why  ?  Do  you  suppose  I  have  nothing  to 
be  melancholy  about  ? ' 

*At  your  age  you  ought  to  find  happiness  in  life.* 
Natalya  walked  some  steps  in  silence. 

*  Dmitri  Nikolaitch  ! '  she  said. 
'Well?' 

'  Do  you  remember — the  comparison  you 
made  yesterday — do  you  remember — of  the 
oak?' 

133 


RUDIN 

*Yes,  I  remember.     Well?* 
Natalya  stole  a  look  at  Rudin. 

*  Why  did  you — what  did  you  mean  by  that 
comparison  ? ' 

Rudin  bent  his  head  and  fastened  his  eyes  on 
the  distance. 

*  Natalya  Alexyevna  ! '  he  began  with  the  in- 
tense and  pregnant  intonation  peculiar  to  him, 
which  always  made  the  listener  believe  that 
Rudin  was  not  expressing  even  the  tenth  part 
of  what  he  held  locked  in  his  heart — *  Natalya 
Alexyevna  !  you  may  have  noticed  that  I  speak 
little  of  my  own  past.  There  are  some  chords 
which  I  do  not  touch  upon  at  all.  My  heart — who 
need  know  what  has  passed  in  it  ?  To  expose 
that  to  view  has  always  seemed  sacrilege  to  me. 
But  with  you  I  cast  aside  reserve  ;  you  win  my 
confidence.  ...  I  cannot  conceal  from  you^^at 
I  too  have  loved  and  have  suffered  like  all  men. 
.  .  .  When  and  how  ?  it 's  useless  to  speak  of 
that ;  but  my  heart  has  known  much  bliss  and 
much  pain.  .  .  .' 

Rudin  made  a  brief  pause. 

*  What  I  said  to  you  yesterday/  he  went  on, 
'  might  be  applied  in  a  degree  to  me  in  my 

134 


RUDIN 

present  position.  But  again  it  is  useless  to 
speak  of  this.  That  side  of  life  is  over  for  me 
now.  What  remains  for  me  is  a  tedious  and 
fatiguing  journey  along  the  parched  and  dusty 
road  from  point  to  point.  .  .  .  When  I  shall  arrive 
— whether  I  arrive  at  all — God  knows.  .  .  .  Let 
us  rather  talk  of  you.* 

•  Can  it  be,  Dmitri  Nikolaitch/  Natalya  in- 
terrupted him,  *  you  expect  nothing  from  life  ? ' 

*  Oh,  no  !  I  expect  much,  but  not  for  myself. 
. . .  Usefulness,  the  content  that  comes  from 
activity,  I  shall  never  renounce  ;  but  I  have 
renounced  happiness.  My  hopes,  my  dreams, 
and  my  own  happiness  have  nothing  in  com- 
mon. Love' — (at  this  word  he  shrugged  his 
shoulders) — '  love  is  not  for  me  ;  I  am  not 
worthy  of  it ;  a  woman  \vho  loves  has  a  right 
to  demand  the  whole  of  a  man,  and  I  can  never 
now  give  the  whole  of  myself  Besides,  it  is  for 
youth  to  win  love  ;  I  am  too  old.  How  could 
I  turn  any  one's  head  ?  God  grant  I  keep  my 
own  head  on  my  shoulders.' 

'  I  understand,'  said  Natalya,  '  that  one  who  is 
bent  on  a  lofty  aim  must  not  think  of  himself; 
but  cannot  a  woman  be  capable  of  appreciating 
135 


RUDIN 

/such  a  man  ?  I  should  have  thought,  on  the 
contrary,  that  a  woman  would  be  sooner  re- 
pelled by  an  egoist.  .  .  .  All  young  men — the 
youth  you  speak  of — all  are  egoists,  they  are  all 
occupied  only  with  themselves,  even  when  they 
love.  Believe  me,  a  woman  is  not  only  able  to 
value  self-sacrifice  ;  she  can  sacrifice  herself.' 

Natalya's  cheeks  were  slightly  flushed  and 
her  eyes  shining.  Before  her  friendship  with 
Rudin  she  would  never  have  succeeded  in  utter- 
ing such  a  long  and  ardent  speech. 

*  You  have  heard  my  views  on  woman's  mis- 
sion more  than  once,'  replied  Rudin  with  a  con- 
descending smile.  '  You  know  that  I  consider 
that  Joan  of  Arc  alone  could  have  saved  France, 
.  . .  but  that 's  not  the  point.  I  wanted  to  speak 
of  you.  You  are  standing  on  thej^hreshold  of 
life^^ ,  To  dwell  on  your  future  is  both  pleasant 
and  not  unprofitable.  .  .  .  Listen  :  you  know  I 
am  your  friend  ;  I  take  almost  a  brother's  inter- 
est in  you.  And  so  I  hope  you  will  not  think 
my  question  indiscreet ;  tell  me,  is  your  heart 
so  far  quite  untouched  } ' 

Natalya  grew  hot  all  over  and  said  nothing. 
Rudin  stopped,  and  she  stopped  too, 
136 


RUDIN 

*  You  are  not  angry  with  me  ? '  he  asked. 

*  No/  she  answered,  *  but  I  did  not  expect- 


*  However/  he  went  on,  *  you  need  not  answer 
me.     I  know  your  secret.' 

Natalya  looked  at  him  almost  with  dismay. 

*  Yes,  yes,  I  know  who  has  won  your  heart. 
And  I  must  say  that  you  could  not  have  made 
a  better  choice.  He  is  a  splendid  man  ;  he 
knows  how  to  value  you  ;  he  has  not  been 
crushed  by  life — he  is  simple  and  pure-hearted 
in  soul  ...  he  will  make  your  happiness.' 

'  Of  whom  are  you  speaking,  Dmitri  Niko- 
laitch  ? ' 

'  Is  it  possible  you  don't  understand .?  Of 
Volintsev,  of  course.     What .?  isn't  it  true  ?  * 

Natalya  turned  a  little  away  from  Rudin. 
She  was  completely  overwhelmed. 

*  Do  you  imagine  he  doesn't  love  you } 
Nonsense !  he  does  not  take  his  eyes  off  you, 
and  follows  every  movement  of  yours  ;  indeed, 
can  love  ever  be  concealed  ?  And  do  not  you 
yoursolf  look  on  him  with  favour  ?  So  far  as  I 
can  observe,  your  mother,  too,  likes  him.  .  .  . 
Your  choice ' 

'  Dmitri  Nikolaitch,'  Natalya  broke  in,  stretch- 
137 


RUDIN 

ing  out  her  hand  in  her  confusion  towards  a 
bush  near  her, '  it  is  so  difficult,  really,  for  me 
to  speak  of  this ;  but  I  assure  you  .  .  .  you  are 
mistaken.' 

*  I  am  mistaken  !'  repeated  Rudin.  *  I  think 
not.  I  have  not  known  you  very  long,  but  I 
already  know  you  well.  What  is  the  meaning 
of  the  change  I  see  in  you  ?  I  see  it  clearly. 
Are  you  just  the  same  as  when  I  met  you  first, 
six  weeks  ago  ?  No,  Natalya  Alexyevna,  your 
heart  is  not  free.' 

'Perhaps  not,*  answered  Natalya,  hardly 
audibly, '  but  all  the  same  you  are  mistaken.' 

*  How  is  that  ? '  asked  Rudin. 

*  Let  me  go !  don't  question  me ! '  replied 
Natalya,  and  with  swift  steps  she  turned  towards 
the  house. 

She  was  frightened  herself  by  the  feelings  of 
which  she  was  suddenly  conscious  in  herself. 
Rudin  overtook  her  and  stopped  her. 

*  Natalya  Alexyevna/  he  said,  '  this  conversa- 
tion cannot  end  like  this ;  it  is  too  important 
for  me  too. .  .  .  How  am  I  to  understand  you  ? ' 

*  Let  me  go ! '  repeated  Natalya 

*  Natalya  Alexyevna,  for  mercy's  sake ! ' 

138 


RUDIN 

Rudin's  face  showed  his  agitation.  He  grew 
pale. 

'You  understand  everything,  you  must  under- 
stand me  too  !'  said  Natalya;  she  snatched  away 
her  hand  and  went  on,  not  looking  round. 

*  Only  one  word  ! '  cried  Rudin  after  her 
She  stood  still,  but  did  not  turn  round. 

*  You  asked  me  what  I  meant  by  that  com- 
parison yesterday.  Let  me  tell  you,  I  don't 
want  to  deceive  you.  I  spoke  of  myself,  of 
my  past, — and  of  you.' 

^  How  ?  of  me  ? ' 

'  Yes,  of  you  ;  I  repeat,  I  will  not  deceive  you. 
You  Jaiow.no\y  what  was  the  feeling,  the_new 
/eelTng,  I  spoke  of  then.  .  .  .  Till  to-day  I 
should  not  have  ^ventured  .  .  .' 

Natalya  suddenly  hid  her  face  in  her  hands, 
and  ran  towards  the  house. 

She  was  so  distracted  by  the  unexpected 
conclusion  of  her  conversation  with  Rudin,  that 
she  ran  past  Volintsev  without  even  noticing 
him.  He  was  standing  motionless  with  his 
back  against  a  tree.  He  had  arrived  at  the 
house  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before,  and  found 
Darya  Mihailovna  in  the  drawing-room ;  and 
139 


RUDIN 

after  exchanging  a  few  words  got  away 
unobserved  and  went  in  search  of  Natalya. 
Led  by  a  lover's  instinct,  he  went  straight 
into  the  garden  and  came  upon  her  and 
Rudin  at  the  very  instant  when  she  snatched 
her  hand  away  from  him.  Darkness  seemed  to 
fall  upon  his  eyes.  Gazing  after  Natalya,  he 
left  the  tree  and  took  two  strides,  not  knowing 
whither  or  wherefore.  Rudin  saw  him  as  he 
came  up  to  him.  Both  looked  each  other  in 
the  face,  bowed,  and  separated  in  silence. 

*  This  won't  be  the  end  of  it,' both  were  thinking. 

Volintsev  went  to  the  very  end  of  the  garden. 
He  felt  sad  and  sick  ;  a  load  lay  on  his  heart, 
and  his  blood  throbbed  in  sudden  stabs  at 
intervals.  The  rain  began  to  fall  a  little  again. 
Rudin  turned  into  his  own  room.  He,  too,  was 
disturbed;  his  _th oughts  were  in  a  whirL.  The 
trustful,  unexpected_contajCt.,Qf  a  young  true 
heart  is  agitating  for  any  one. 

At  table  everything  went  somehow  wrong. 
Natalya,  pale  all  over,  could  scarcely  sit  in  her 
place  and  did  not  raise  her  eyes.  Volintsev  sat 
as  usual  next  her,  and  from  time  to  time  began 
to  talk  in  a  constrained  way  to  her.  It  happened 
140 


RUDIN 

that  Pigasov  was  dining  at  Darya  Mihailovna's 
that  day.  He  talked  more  than  any  one  at 
table.  Among  other  things  he  began  to  main  - 
tain  that  men,  like  dogs,  can  be  divided  into 
the  short-tailed  and  the  long-tailed.  People 
are  short-tailed,  he  said,  either  from  birth  or 
through  their  own  fault.  The  short-tailed  are 
in  a  sorry  plight ;  nothing  succeeds  with  them 
— they  have  no  confidence  in  themselves.  But 
the  man  who  has  a  long  furry  tail  is  happy. 
He  may  be  weaker  and  inferior  to  the  short- 
tailed ;  but  he  believes  in  himself;  he  displays 
his  tail  and  every  one  admires  it.  And  this  is 
a  fit  subject  for  wonder ;  the  tail,  of  course,  is  a 
perfectly  useless  part  of  the  body,  you  admit ; 
of  what  use  can  a  tail  be  ?  but  all  judge  of  their 
abilities  by  their  tail.  '  I  myself,'  he  concluded 
with  a  sigh,  *  belong  to  the  number  of  the 
short-tailed,  and  what  is  most  annoying,  I 
cropped  my  tail  myself 

*By  which  you  mean  to  say,'  commented 
Rudin  carelessly, '  what  La  Rochefoucauld  said 
long  before  you  :  Believe  in  yourself  and  others 
will  believe  in  you.  Why  the  tail  was  brought 
in,  I  fail  to  understand.' 
141 


RUDIN 

*  Let  every  one/  Volintsev  began  sharply  and 
with  flashing  eyes,  *  let  every  one  express  himself 
according  to  his  fancy.  Talk  of  despotism  ! .  . . 
I  consider  there  is  none  worse  than  the  de- 
spotism of  so-called  clever  men ;  confound 
them!' 

Everyone  was  astonished  at  this  outbreakfrom 
Volintsev ;  it  was  received  in  silence.  Rudin 
tried  to  look  at  him,  but  he  could  not  control 
his  eyes,  and  turned  away  smiling  without 
opening  his  lips. 

*  Aha !  so  you  too  have  lost  your  tail ! ' 
thought  Pigasov ;  and  Natalya's  heart  sank  in 
terror.  Darya  Mihailovna  gave  Volintsev  с 
long  puzzled  stare  and  at  last  was  the  first  to 
speak  ;  she  began  to  describe  an  extraordinary 
dog  belonging  to  a  minister  So-and-So. 

Volintsev  went  away  soon  after  dinner.  As 
he  bade  Natalya  good-bye  he  could  not  resist 
saying  to  her  : 

*  Why  are  you  confused,  as  though  you  had 
done  wrong }  You  cannot  have  done  wrong  to 
any  one ! ' 

Natalya  did  not  understand  at  all,  and  could 
only  gaze  after  him.     Before  tea  Rudin  went 
142 


RUDIN 

up  to  her,  and  bending  over  the  table  as  though 
he  were  examining  the  papers,  whispered : 

*  It  is  all  like  a  dream,  isn't  it  ?  I  absolutely 
must  see  you  alone — if  only  for  a  minute/  He 
turned  to  Mile.  Boncourt.  '  Here/  he  said  to  her, 
'this  is  the  article  you  were  looking  for/  and 
again  bending  towards  Natalya,  he  added  in  a 
whisper,  *  Try  to  be  near  the  terrace  in  the  lilac 
arbour  about  ten  o'clock  ;  I  will  wait  for  you/ 

Pigasov  was  the  hero  of  the  evening.  Rudin 
left  him  in  possession  of  the  field.  He  afforded 
Darya  Mihailovna  much  entertainment ;  first 
he  told  a  story  of  one  of  his  neighbours  who, 
having  been  henpecked  by  his  wife  for  thirty 
years,  had  grown  so  womanish  that  one  day  in 
crossing  a  little  puddle  when  Pigasov  was 
present,  he  put  out  his  hand  and  picked  up  the 
skirt  of  his  coat,  as  women  do  with  their  petti- 
coats. Then  he  turned  to  another  gjentleman 
who  to  begin  with  had  been  a  freemason,  then  a 
hypochondriac,  and  then  wanted  to  be  a  banker. 

'  How  were  you  a  freemason,  Philip  Ste- 
panitch .? '  Pigasov  asked  him. 

'  You  know  how ;  I  wore  the  nail  of  my  little 
finger  long/ 

143 


RUDIN 

But  what  most  diverted  Darya  Mihailovna 
was  when  Pigasov  set  off  on  a  dissertation  upon 
love,  and  maintained  that  even  he  had  been 
sighed  for,  that  one  ardent  German  lady  had 
even  given  him  the  nickname  of  her  'dainty 
little  African'  and  her  'hoarse  little  crow/ 
Darya  Mihailovna  laughed,  but  Pigasov  spoke 
the  truth  ;  he  really  was  in  a  position  to  boast 
of  his  conquests.  He  maintained  that  nothing 
could  be  easier  than  to  make  any  woman  you 
chose  fall  in  love  with  you ;  you  only  need 
repeat  to  her  for  ten  days  in  succession  that 
heaven  is  on  her  lips  and  bliss  in  her  eyes,  and 
that  the  rest  of  womankind  are  all  simply  rag- 
bags  beside  hej- ;  and  on  the  eleventh  day  she 
will  be  ready  to  say  herself  that  there  is  heaven 
on  her  lips  and  bliss  in  her  eyes,  and  will  be  in 
love  with  you.  Everything  comes  to  pass  in 
the  world  ;  so  who  knows,  perhaps  Pigasov  was 
right  ? 

At  half-past  nine  Rudin  was  already  in  the 
arbour.  The  stars  had  come  out  in  the  pale, 
distant  depths  of  the  heaven  ;  there  was  still 
a  red  glow  where  the  sun  had  set,  and  there 
the  horizon  seemed  brighter  and  clearer ;  a 
144 


RUDIN 

semicircular  moon  shone  golden  through  the 
black  network  of  the  weeping  birch-tree.  The 
other  trees  stood  like  grim  giants,  with  thousands 
of  chinks  looking  like  eyes,  or  fell  into  compact 
masses  of  darkness.  Not  a  leaf  was  stirring ; 
the  topmost  branches  of  the  lilacs  and  acacias 
seemed  to  stretch  upwards  into  the  warm  air,  as 
though  listening  for  something.  The  house  was 
a  dark  mass  now  ;  patches  of  red  light  showed 
where  the  long  windows  were  lighted  up.  It 
was  a  soft  and  peaceful  evening,  but  under  this 
peace  was  felt  the  secret  breath  of  passion. 

Rudin  stood,  his  arms  folded  on  his  breast, 
and  listened  with  strained  attention.  His  heart 
beat  violently,  and  involuntarily  he  held  his 
breath.  At  last  he  caught  the  sound  of  light, 
hurrying  footsteps,  and  Natalya  came  into  the 
arbour. 

Rudin  rushed  up  to  her,  and  took  her  hands. 
They  were  cold  as  ice. 

*  Natalya  Alexyevna!'  he  began,  in  an  agitated 
whisper,  '  I  wanted  to  see  you.  ...  I  could  not 
wait  till  to-morrow.  I  must  tell  you  what  I  did 
not  suspect — what  I  did  not  realise  even  this 
morning.     I  love  you  ! ' 

145  к 


RUDIN 

Natalya's  hands  trembled  feebly  in  his. 

'  I  love  you  ! '  he  repeated,  *  and  how  could  I 
have  deceived  myself  so  long?  How  was  it 
I  did  not  guess  long  ago  that  I  love  you  ?  And 
you  ?     Natalya  Alexyevna,  tell  me ! ' 

Natalya  could  scarcely  draw  her  breath. 

*  You  see  I  have  come  here,'  she  uttered,  at 
last. 

*  No,  say  that  you  love  me !  * 

-  *  I  think — yes,'  she  whispered. 

Rudin  pressed  her  hands  still  more  warmly, 
and  tried  to  draw  her  to  him. 

Natalya  looked  quickly  round. 

'Let  me  go — I  am  frightened.  ...  I  think 
some  one  is  listening  to  us.  .  .  .  For  God's 
sake,  be  on  your  guard.     Volintsev  suspects.' 

*  Never  mind  him  !  You  saw  I  did  not  even 
answer  him  to-day.  . .  .  Ah,  Natalya  Alexyevna, 
how  happy  I  am  !  Nothing  shall  sever  us 
now!' 

Natalya  looked  into  his  eyes. 

*  Let  me  go,'  she  whispered  ;  4t  's  time/ 

*  One  instant,'  began  Rudin. 

*  No,  let  me  go,  let  me  go.' 

*  You  seem  afraid  of  me.' 

146 


RUDIN 

*  No,  but  it 's  time/ 

*  Repeat,  then,  at  least  once  more/  .  .  . 

*  You  say  you  are  happy  ? '  asked  Natalya. 

*  I  ?  No  man  in  the  world  is  happier  than  I 
am  !     Can  you  doubt  it  ? ' 

Natalya  lifted  up  her  head.  Very  beautifull 
was  her  pale,  noble,  young  face,  transformed 
by  passion,  in  the  mysterious  shadows  of  the 
arbour,  in  the  faint  light  reflected  from  the 
evening  sky. 

*  I  tell  you  then,'  she  said,  *  I  will  be  yours.' 
*0h,  my  God !'  cried  Rudin. 

But  Natalya  made  her  escape,  and  was 
gone. 

Rudin  stood  still  a  little  while,  then  walked 
slowly  out  of  the  arbour.  The  moon  threw  a 
light  on  his  face ;  there  was  a  smile  on  his 
lips. 

^^amjiappy,'  he  uttered  in  a  half  whisper. 
*  Yes,  I  am  happy^  he  repeated,  as  though  he 
wanted  to  convince  himself 

He  straightened  his  tall  figure,  shook  back 
his  locks,  and  walked  quickly  into  the  garden, 
with  a  happy  gesture  of  his  hands. 

Meanwhile  the  bushes  of  the  lilac  arbour 
Ч? 


RUDIN 

moved  apart,  and  Pandalevsky  appeared.  He 
looked  around  warily,  shook  His  head,  pursed 
up  his  mouth,  and  said,  significantly,  *  So  that 's 
how  it  is.  That  must  be  brought  to  Darya 
Mihailovna's  knowledge.'     And  he  vanished. 


148 


VIII 

On  his  return  home,  Volintsev  was  so  gloomy 
and  dejected,  he  gave  his  sister  such  listless 
answers,  and  so  quickly  locked  himself  up  in 
his  room,  that  she  decided  to  send  a  messengei 
to  Lezhnyov.  She  always  had  recourse  to  him 
in  times  of  difficulty.  Lezhnyov  sent  her  word 
that  he  would  come  in  the  next  day. 

Volintsev  was  no  more  cheerful  in  the  morn- 
ing. After  tea  he  was  starting  to  superintend 
the  work  on  the  estate,  but  he  stayed  at  home 
instead,  lay  on  the  sofa,  and  took  up  a  book — a 
thing  he  did  not  often  do.  Volintsev  had  no 
taste  for  literature,  and  poetry  simply  alarmed 
him.  'This  is  as  incomprehensible  as  poetry,' 
he  used  to  say,  and,  in  confirmation  of  his 
words,  he  used  to  quote  the  following  lines 
149 


RUDIN 

from  a  Russian  poet : — 

*  And  till  his  gloomy  lifetime's  close 
Nor  reason  nor  experience  proud 
Will  crush  nor  crumple  Destiny's 
Ensanguined  forget-me-nots.* 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  kept  looking  uneasily  at 
her  brother,  but  she  did  not  worry  him  with 
questions.     A  carriage  drew  up  at  the  steps. 

*  Ah  ! '  she  thought,  '  Lezhnyov,  thank  good- 
ness ! ' 

A  servant  came  in  and  announced  the  arrival 
of  Rudin. 

Volintsev  flung  his  book  on  the  floor,  and 
raised  his  head.     *  Who  has  come  } '  he  asked. 

*  Rudin,  Dmitri  Nikolaitch,'  repeated  the  man. 
Volintsev  got  up. 

*  Ask  him  in,'  he  said,  '  and  you,  sister,'  he 
added,  turning  to  Alexandra  Pavlovna,  'leave 
us  alone.' 

*  But  why  ? '  she  was  beginning. 

*  I  have  a  good  reason,'  he  interrupted,  pas- 
sionately.    *  I  beg  you  to  leave  us.' 

Rudin  entered.     Volintsev,  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  received  him  with  a  chilly 
bow,  without  offering  his  hand. 
150 


RUDIN 

'Confess  you  did  not  expect  me/  began 
Rudin,  and  he  laid  his  hat  down  by  the  window 
His  hps  were  slightly  twitching.  He  was 
ill  at  ease,  but  tried  to  conceal  his  embarrass- 
ment. 

Ч  did  not  expect  you,  certainly/  replied 
Volintsev,  *  after  yesterday.  I  should  have  more 
readily  expected  some  one  with  a  special  me& 
sage  from  you.' 

*  I  understand  what  you  mean/  said  Rudin, 
taking  a  seat,  *  and  am  very  grateful  for  your 
frankness.  It  is  far  better  so.  I  have  come 
myself  to  you,  as  to  a  man  of  honour.' 

'  Cannot  we  dispense  with  compliments  ? '  ob- 
served Volintsev. 

*  I  want  to  explain  to  you  why  I  have  come.' 

*  We  are  acquainted  :  why  should  you  not 
come  ?  Besides,  this  is  not  the  first  time  you 
have  honoured  me  with  a  visit.' 

'  I  came  to  you  as  one  man  of  honour  to 
another/  repeated  Rudin,  *  and  I  want  now  to 
appeal  to  your  sense  of  justice.  ...  I  have 
complete  confidence  in  you.' 

*  What  is  the  matter  ? '  said  Volintsev,  who  all 
this   time   was   still   standing   in    his    original 

151 


RUDIN 

position,  staring  sullenly  at  Rudin,  and  some- 
times pulling  the  ends  of  his  moustache. 

*  If  you  would  kindly  ...  I  came  here  to 
make  an  explanation,  certainly,  but  all  the  same 
it  cannot  be  done  off-hand.' 

'  Why  not  ?  * 

*  A  third  person  is  involved  in  this  matter.* 
'  What  third  person  ? ' 

*  SergeY  Pavlitch,  you  understand  me  }  * 

*  Dmitri  Nikolaitch,  I  don 't  understand  you 
in  the  least' 

*  You  prefer ' 

*  I  prefer  you  should  speak  plainly ! '  broke 
in  Volintsev. 

He  was  beginning  to  be  angry  in  earnest. 
Rudin  frowned. 

*  Permit  ...  we  are  alone  ...  I  must  tell 
you — though  you  certainly  are  aware  of  it 
already  (Volintsev  shrugged  his  shoulders  im- 
patiently)— I  must  tell  you  that  I  love  Natalya 
Alexyevna,  and  I  have  the  right  to  believe  that 
she  loves  me.' 

Volintsev  turned  white,  but  made  no  reply. 
He  walked  to  the  window  and  stood  with  his 
back  turned. 

152 


RUDIN 

*You  understand,  Sergef  Pavlitch/  continued 
Rudin,  '  that  if  I  were  not  convinced  .  .  .' 

*  Upon  my  word  ! '  interrupted  Volintsev,  '  I 
don't  doubt  it  in  the  least.  .  ,  .  Well !  so  be  it! 
Good  luck  to  you !  Only  I  wonder  what  the 
devil  induced  you  to  come  with  this  news  to  me. 
.  .  .  What  have  I  to  do  with  it .?  What  is  it 
to  me  whom  you  love,  or  who  loves  you  ?  It 
simply  passes  my  comprehension.' 

Volintsev    continued    to   stare    out    of  the 
window.     His  voice  sounded  choked. 
Rudin  got  up. 

*  I  will  tell  you,  SergeY  Pavlitch,  why  I 
decided  to  come  to  you,  why  I  did  not  even 
think  I  had  the  right  to  hide  from  you  our — 
our  mutual  feelings.  I  have  too  profound 
an  esteem  for  you — that  is  why  I  have  come  ;  I 
did  not  want  ...  we  both  did  not  wish  to  play 
a  part  before  you.  Your  feeling  for  Natalya 
Alexyevna  was  known  to  me.  .  .  .  Believe  me,  I 
have  no  illusions  about  myself;  I  know  how 
little  I  deserve  to  supplant  you  in  her  heart, 
but  if  it  was  fated  this  should  be,  is  it  made 
any  better  by  pretence,  hypocrisy,  and  deceit  ? 
Is  it  any  better  to  expose  ourselves  to  mis- 

153 


RUDIN 

understandings,  or  even  to  the  possibilities 
of  such  a  scene  as  took  place  yesterday  at 
dinner?  Sergei  Pavlitch,  tell  me  yourself, 
is  it?' 

Volintsev  folded  his  arms  on  his  chest,  as 
though  he  were  trying  to  hold  himself  in. 

*  Sergei  Pavlitch  ! '  Rudin  continued,  *  I  have 
given  you  pain,  I  feel  it — but  understand  us 
— understand  that  we  had  no  other  means  of 
proving  our  respect  to  you,  of  proving  that  we 
know  how  to  value  your  honour  and  uprightness. 
Openness,  complete  openness  with  any  other 
man  would  have  been  misplaced  ;  but  with  you 
it  took  the  form  of  duty.  We  are  happy  to 
think  our  secret  is  in  your  hands.' 

Volintsev  gave  vent  to  a  forced  laugh. 

*  Many  thanks  for  your  confidence  in  me ! ' 
he  exclaimed,  *  though,  pray  observe,  I  neither 
wished  to  know  your  secret,  nor  to  tell  you 
mine,  though  you  treat  it  as  if  it  were  your 
property.  But  excuse  me,  you  speak  as  though 
for  two.  Does  it  follow  I  am  to  suppose  that 
Natalya  Alexyevna  knows  of  your  visit,  and 
the  object  of  it  ?  ' 

Rudin  was  a  little  taken  aback. 
154 


RUDIN 

*  No,  I  did  not  communicate  my  intention  to 
Natalya  Alexyevna ;  but  I  know  she  would 
share  my  views.' 

*  That 's  all  very  fine  indeed/  Volintsev  began 
after  a  short  pause,  drumming  on  the  window 
pane  with  his  fingers,  *  though  I  must  confess  it 
would  have  been  far  better  if  you  had  had  rather 
less  respect  for  me.  I  don't  care  a  hang  for 
your  respect,  to  tell  you  the  truth  ;  but  what  do 
you  want  of  me  now  ? ' 

*  I  want  nothing — or — no  !  I  want  one 
thing ;  I  want  you  not  to  regard  me  as 
treacherous  or  hypocritical,  to  understand  me 
i  .  .  I  hope  that  now  you  cannot  doubt  of  my 
sincerity  ...  I  want  us,  Sergef  Pavlitch,  to 
part  as  friends  .  .  .  you  to  give  me  your  hand 
as  you  once  did.' 

And  Rudin  went  up  to  Volintsev. 

*  Excuse  me,  my  good  sir,'  said  Volintsev, 
turning  round  and  stepping  back  a  few  paces, 
*  I  am  ready  to  do  full  justice  to  your  intentions, 
all  that 's  very  fine,  I  admit,  very  exalted,  but 
we  are  simple  people,  we  do  not  gild  our  ginger- 
bread, we  are  not  capable  of  following  the  flight 
of  great  minds  like  yours.  .  .  .  What  you  think 

155 


RUDIN 

Sincere,  we  regard  as  impertinent  and  disin- 
genuous and  indiscreet.  .  .  .  What  is  clear  and 
simple  to  you,  is  involved  and  obscure  to  us.  .  .  . 
You  boast  of  what  we  conceal.  .  .  .  How  are  we 
to  understand  you  !  Excuse  me,  I  can  neither 
regard  you  as  a  friend,  nor  will  I  give  you  my 
hand.  . . .  That  is  petty,  perhaps,  but  I  am  only 
a  petty  person.' 

Rudin  took  his  hat  from  the  window 
seat. 

*  SergeY  Pavlitch  ! '  he  said  sorrowfully,  *  good- 
bye ;  I  was  mistaken  in  my  expectations.  My 
visit  certainly  was  rather  a  strange  one  .  .  .  but 
I  had  hoped  that  you  .  .  .  (Volintsev  made  a 
movement  of  impatience).  .  .  .  Excuse  me,  I 
will  say  no  more  of  this.  Reflecting  upon  it  all, 
I  see  indeed,  you  are  right,  you  could  not  have 
behaved  otherwise.  Good-bye,  and  allow  me,  at 
least  once  more,  for  the  last  time,  to  assure  you 
of  the  purity  of  my  intentions.  ...  I  am  con- 
vinced of  your  discretion/ 

*That  is  too  much  !'  cried  Volintsev,  shaking 
with  anger,  *  I  never  asked  for  your  confidence  ; 
and  so  you  have  no  right  whatever  to  reckon  on 
my  discretion !  * 

156 


RUDIN 

Rudln  was  about  to  say  something,  but  he 
only  waved  his  hands,  bowed  and  went  away, 
and  Voh'ntsev  flung  himself  on  the  sofa  and 
turned  his  face  to  the  wall. 

*  May  I  come  in  ? '  Alexandra  Pavlovna's 
voice  was  heard  saying  at  the  door. 

Volintsev  did  not  answer  at  once,  and 
stealthily  passed  his  hand  over  his  face.  *  No, 
Sasha,*  he  said,  in  a  slightly  altered  voice,  *  wait 
a  little  longer.' 

Half  an  hour  later,  Alexandra  Pavlovna  again 
came  to  the  door. 

*Mihailo  Mihailitch  is  here/  she  said,  'will 
you  see  him  ? ' 

*Yes,'  answered  Volintsev,  'let  them  show 
him  up  here.' 

Lezhnyov  came  in. 

'  What,  aren't  you  well  ? '  he  asked,  seating 
himself  in  a  chair  near  the  sofa. 

Volintsev  raised  himself,  and,  leaning  on 
his  elbow  gazed  a  long,  long  while  into  his 
friend's  face,  and  then  repeated  to  him  his 
whole  conversation  with  Rudin  word  for 
word.  He  had  never  before  given  Lezh- 
nyov a  hint  of  his  sentiments  towards 
157 


RUDIN 

Natalya,  though  he  guessed  they  were  no  secret 
to  him, 

*  Well,  brother,  you  have  surprised  me ! ' 
Lezhnyov  said,  as  soon  as  Volintsev  had  finished 
his  story.  *  I  expected  many  strange  things  from 
him,  but  this  is Still  I  can  see  him  in  it/ 

*  Upon  my  honour  ! '  cried  Volintsev,  in  great 
excitement/it  is  simply  insolence!  Why,I  almost 
threw  him  out  of  the  window.  Did  he  want  to 
boast  to  me  or  was  he  afraid  ?  What  was  the 
object  of  it  ?  How  could  he  make  up  his  mind 
to  come  to  a  man .? ' 

Volintsev  clasped  his  hands  over  his  head  and 
was  speechless. 

*  No,  brother,  that 's  not  it,'  replied  Lezhnyov 
tranquilly  ;  *  you  won't  believe  me,  but  he  really 
did  it  from  a  good  motive.  Yes,  indeed.  It  was 
generous,  do  you  see,  and  candid,  to  be  sure, 
and  it  would  offer  an  opportunity  of  speechify- 
ing and  giving  vent  to  his  fine  talk,  and,  of 
course,  that's  what  he  wants,  what  he  can't 
live  without.  Ah  !  his  tongue  is  his  enemy. 
Though  it 's  a  good  servant  to  him  too.' 

*  With  what  solemnity  he  came  in  and  talked, 
you  can't  imagine ! ' 

158 


RUDIN 

*  Well,  he  can't  do  anything  without  that.  He 
buttons  his  great-coat  as  if  he  were  fulfilling  a 
sacred  duty.  I  should  like  to  put  him  on  a 
desert  island  and  look  round  a  corner  to  see 
how  he  would  behave  there.  And  he  discourses 
on  simplicity ! ' 

*  But  tell  me,  my  dear  fellow,'  asked  Volintsev, 
*  what  is  it,  philosophy  or  what  ? ' 

'  How  can  I  tell  you  ?  On  one  side  it  is  philo- 
sophy, I  daresay,  and  on  the  other  something 
altogether  different  It  is  not  right  to  put 
every  folly  down  to  philosophy/ 

Volintsev  looked  at  him. 

*  Wasn't  he  lying  then,  do  you  imagine  ? ' 

*  No,  my  son,  he  wasn't  lying.  But,  do  you 
know,  we  've  talked  enough  of  this.  Let 's  light 
our  pipes  and  call  Alexandra  Pavlovna  in  here. 
It 's  easier  to  talk  when  she 's  with  us  and  easier 
to  be  silent.     She  shall  make  us  some  tea.' 

*  Very  well/  replied  Volintsev.  *  Sasha,  come 
in/  he  cried  aloud. 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  came  in.  He  grasped 
her  hand  and  pressed  it  warmly  to  his  lips. 

Rudin  returned   in    a   curious  and  mingled 
159 


RUDIN 

frame  of  mind.  He  was  annoyed  with  him- 
self, he  reproached  himself  for  his  unpardonable 
precipitancy,  his  boyish  impulsiveness.  Some 
one  has  justly  said  :  there  is  nothing  more 
painful  than  the  consciousness  of  having  just 
done  something  stupid. 

Rudin  was  devoured  by  regret. 

*  What  evil  genius  drove  me,'  he  muttered 
between  his  teeth,  *  to  call  on  that  squire ! 
What  an  idea  it  was  !  Only  to  expose  myself 
to  insolence ! ' 

But  in  Darya  Mihailovna's  house  something 
extraordinary  had  been  happening.  The  lady 
herself  did  not  appear  the  whole  morning,  and 
did  not  come  in  to  dinner ;  she  had  a  headache, 
declared  Pandalevsky,  the  only  person  who  had 
been  admitted  to  her  room.  Natalya,  too, 
Rudin  scarcely  got  a  glimpse  of:  she  sat  in  her 
room  with  Mile.  Boncourt  When  she  met  him 
at  the  dinner-table  she  looked  at  him  so  mourn- 
fully that  his  heart  sank.  Her  face  was  changed 
as  though  a  load  of  sorrow  had  descended 
upon  her  since  the  day  before.  Rudin  began  to 
be  oppressed  by  a  vague  presentiment  of  trouble. 
In  order  to  distract  his  mind  in  some  way  he 
i6o 


RUDIN 

occupied  himself  with  Bassistoflf,  had  much  con- 
versation with  him,  and  found  him  an  ardent, 
eager  lad,  full  of  enthusiastic  hopes  and  still 
untarnished  faith.  In  the  evening  Darya 
Mihailovna  appeared  for  a  couple  of  hours  in 
the  drawing-room.  She  was  polite  to  Rudin, 
but  kept  him  somehow  at  a  distance,  and 
smiled  and  frowned,  talking  through  her  nose, 
and  in  hints  more  than  ever.  Everything  about 
her  had  the  air  of  the  society  lady  of  the  court. 
She  had  seemed  of  late  rather  cooler  to  Rudin. 
*  What  is  the  secret  of  it  ? '  he  thought,  with  a 
sidelong  look  at  her  haughtily-lifted  head. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait  for  the  solution  of 
the  enigma.  As  he  was  returning  at  twelve 
o'clock  at  night  to  his  room,  along  a  dark 
corridor,  some  one  suddenly  thrust  a  note  into 
his  hand.  He  looked  round  ;  a  girl  was  hurry- 
ing away  in  the  distance,  Natalya's  maid,  he 
fancied.  He  went  into  his  room,  dismissed  the 
servant,  tore  open  the  letter,  and  read  the  fol- 
lowing lines  in  Natalya's  handwriting  : — 

'Come  to-morrow  at  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  not  later,  to  Avduhin  pond,  beyond 
the  oak  copse.  Any  other  time  will  be  im- 
i6i  L 


RUDIN 

possible.  It  will  be  our  last  meeting,  all  will 
be  over,  unless  .  .  .  Come.  We  must  make 
our  decision. — P.S.  If  I  don't  come,  it  will 
mean  we  shall  not  see  each  other  again  ;  then  I 
will  let  you  know.' 

Rudin  turned  the  letter  over  in  his  hands, 
musing  upon  it,  then  laid  it  under  his  pillow, 
undressed,  and  lay  down.  For  a  long  while  he 
could  not  get  to  sleep,  and  then  he  slept  very 
lightly,  and  it  was  not  yet  five  o'clock  when  he 
woke  up. 


1б2 


IX 


The  Avduhin  pond,  near  which  Natalya  had 
fixed  the  place  of  meeting,  had  long  ceased  to 
be  a  pond.  Thirty  years  before  it  had  burst 
through  its  banks  and  it  had  been  given  up 
since  then.  Only  by  the  smooth  flat  surface  of 
the  hollow,  once  covered  with  slimy  mud,  and 
the  traces  of  the  banks,  could  one  guess  that 
it  had  been  a  pond.  A  farm-house  had  stood 
near  it.  It  had  long  ago  passed  away.  Two 
huge  pine-trees  preserved  its  memory  ;  the  wind 
was  for  ever  droning  and  sullenly  murmuring 
in  their  high  gaunt  green  tops.  There  were 
mysterious  tales  among  the  people  of  a  fearful 
crime  supposed  to  have  been  committed  under 
them  ;  they  used  to  tell,  too,  that  not  one  of 
them  would  fall  without  bringing  death  to 
some  one ;  that  a  third  had  once  stood  there, 
which  had  fallen  in  a  storm  and  crushed  a  girl. 
163 


RUDIN 

The  whole  place  near  the  old  pond  was  sup- 
posed to  be  haunted ;  it  was  a  barren  wilder- 
ness, dark  and  gloomy,  even  on  a  sunny  day — 
it  seemed  darker  and  gloomier  still  from  the 
old,  old  forest  of  dead  and  withered  oak-trees 
which  was  near  it.  A  few  huge  trees  lifted 
their  grey  heads  above  the  low  undergrowth  of 
bushes  like  weary  giants.  They  were  a  sinister 
sight ;  it  seemed  as  though  wicked  old  men 
had  met  together  bent  on  some  evil  design.  A 
narrow  path  almost  indistinguishable  wandered 
beside  it.  No  one  went  near  the  Avduhin 
pond  without  some  urgent  reason.  Natalya 
intentionally  chose  this  solitary  place.  It  was 
not  more  than  half-a-mile  from  Darya  Mihai- 
lovna's  house. 

The  sun  had  already  risen  some  time  when 
Rudin  reached  the  Avduhin  pond,  but  it  was 
not  a  bright  morning.  Thick  clouds  of  the 
colour  of  milk  covered  the  whole  sky,  and  were 
driven  flying  before  the  whistling,  shrieking 
wind.  Rudin  began  to  walk  up  and  down 
along  the  bank,  which  was  covered  with  cling- 
ing burdocks  and  blackened  nettles.  He  was 
not  easy  in  his  mind.  These  interviews,  these 
164 


RUDIN 

new  emotions  had  a  charm  for  him,  but  they 
also  troubled  him,  especially  after  the  note  of 
the  night  before.  He  felt  that  the  end  was 
drawing  near,  and  was  in  secret  perplexity  of 
spirit,  though  none  would  have  imagined  it, 
seeing  with  what  concentrated  determination 
he  folded  his  arms  across  his  chest  and  looked 
around  him.  Pigasov  had  once  said  truly  of 
him,  that  he  was  like  a  Chinese  idol,  his  head 
was  constantly  overbalancing  him.  But  with 
the  head  alone,  however  strong  it  may  be,  it  is 
hard  for  a  man  to  know  even  what  is  passing 
in  himself.  .  .  .  Rudin,  the  clever,  penetrating 
Rudin,  was  not  capable  of  saying  certainly 
whether  he  loved  Natalya,  whether  he  was 
suffering,  and  whether  he  would  suffer  at 
parting  from  her.  Why  then,  since  he  had  [ 
not  the  least  disposition  to  play  the  Love- 
lace— one  must  do  him  that  credit — had 
he  turned  the  poor  girl's  head  ?  Why  was 
he  awaiting  her  with  a  secret  tremor  ?  To 
this  the  only  answer  is  that  there  are  none 
so  easily  carried  away  as  those  who  are  with- 
out passion. 

He  walked  on  the  bank,  while  Natalya  was 
165 


RUDIN 

hurrying  to  him  straight  across  country  through 
the  wet  grass. 

*  Natalya  Alexyevna,  you  '11  get  your  feet 
wet ! '  said  her  maid  Masha,  scarcely  able  to 
keep  up  with  her. 

Natalya  did  not  hear  and  ran  on  without 
looking  round. 

'  Ah,  supposing  they  Ve  seen  us !  *  cried 
Masha  ;  *  indeed  it 's  surprising  how  we  got  out 
of  the  house  .  .  .  and  ma'mselle  may  wake  up. 
.  .  It 's  a  mercy  it 's  not  far.  .  . .  Ah,  the  gentle- 
man's  waiting  already,*  she  added,  suddenly 
catching  sight  of  Rudin's  majestic  figure,  stand- 
ing out  picturesquely  on  the  bank  ;  *  but  what 
does  he  want  to  stand  on  that  mound  for — he 
ought  to  have  kept  in  the  hollow.' 

Natalya  stopped. 

*  Wait  here,  Masha,  by  the  pines,'  she  said, 
and  went  on  to  the  pond. 

Rudin  went  up  to  her  ;  he  stopped  short  in 
amazement.  He  had  never  seen  such  an  expres- 
sion on  her  face  before.  Her  brows  were  con- 
tracted, her  lips  set,  her  eyes  looked  sternly 
straight  before  her. 

'  Dmitri  Nikolaitch,*  she  began,  'we  have  no 
i66 


RUDIN 

time  to  lose.  I  have  come  for  five  minutes. 
I  must  tell  you  that  my  mother  knows  every- 
thing. Mr.  Pandalevsky  saw  us  the  day  before 
yesterday,  and  he  told  her  of  our  meeting.  He 
v/as  always  mamma's  spy.  She  called  me  in  to 
her  yesterday.' 

*  Good  God  ! '  cried  Rudin,  *  this  is  terrible. . . . 
What  did  your  mother  say  ? ' 

*  She  was  not  angry  with  me,  she  did  not 
scold  me,  but  she  reproached  me  for  my  want 
of  discretion.' 

*  That  was  all  ?  ' 

*  Yes,  and  she  declared  she  would  sooner  see 
me  dead  than  your  wife  ! ' 

*  Is  it  possible  she  said  that  ? ' 

*  Yes  ;  and  she  said  too  that  you  yourself  did 
not  want  to  marry  me  at  all,  that  you  had  only  | 
been  flirting  with  me  because  you  were  bored,  \ 
and  that  she  had  not  expected  this  of  you  ;  but 
that  she  herself  was  to  blame  for  having  allowed 
me  to  see  so  much  of  you  .  .  .  that  she  relied  on 
my  good  sense,thatlhad  very  much  surprised  her 

, , .  and  I  don't  remember  now  all  she  said  to  me,' 
Natalya  uttered  all  this  in  an  even,  almost 
expressionless,  voice. 

167 


RUDIN 

'  And  you,  Natalya  Alexyevna,  what  did  you 
answer  ? '  asked  Rudin. 

*  What  did  I  answer  ? '  repeated  Natalya.  .  .  . 
*  What  do  fou  intend  to  do  now  ? ' 

*  Good  God,  good  God  ! '  replied  Rudin,  *  it  is 
cruel  I  So  soon  .  .  .  such  a  sudden  blow  I  ,  •  • 
And  is  your  mother  in  such  indignation  ?  * 

*  Yes,  yes,  she  will  not  hear  of  you.' 

*  It  is  terrible  !   You  mean  there  is  no  hope  ? 
'  None.' 

*  Why  should  we  be  so  unhappy !  That 
abominable  Pandalevsky !  .  .  .  You  ask  me, 
Natalya  Alexyevna,  what  I  intend  to  do  ?  My 
head  is  going  round — I  cannot  take  in  any- 
thing .  .  .  I  can  feel  nothing^  but  my  unhappi- 
ness  ...  I  am  amazed  that  you  can  preserve' 
such  self-possession ! ' 

*  Do  you  think  it  is  easy  for  me  ? '  said  Natalya. 
Rudin  began  to  walk  along  the  bank.   Natalya    I 

did  not  take  her  eyes  off  him.  ' 

'Your   mother   did  not  question   you?*  he 

said  at  last. 

'  She  asked  me  whether  I  love  you.' 

*  Well  ...  and  you  ? ' 

Natalya  was  silent  a  moment.  *  I  told  the  tru^.' 
i68      ''^ 


RUDIN 

Rudin  took  her  hand. 

*  Always, in  all  things  generous, noble-hearted! 
Oh,  the  heart  of  a  girl — it 's  pure  gold  !  But 
did  your  mother  really  declare  her  decision 
so  absolutely  on  the  impossibility  of  our 
marriage?' 

'  Yes,  absolutely.  I  have  told  you  already  ; 
she  is  convinced  that  you  yourself  don't  think 
of  marrying  me.' 

*  Then  she  regards  me  as  a  traitor !  What 
have  I  done  to  deserve  it  ?  '  And  Rudin  clutched 
his  head  in  his  hands. 

*  Dmitri  Nikolaitch  ! '  said  Natalya,  *  we  are 
losing  our  time.  Remember  I  am  seeing  you 
for  the  last  time.  I  came  here  not  to  weep  and 
lament — you  see  I  am  not  crying — I  came  for 
advice.' 

*  And  what  advice  can  I  give  you,  Natalya 
Alexyevna  ? ' 

*  What  advice  ?  You  are  a  man  ;  I  am  used 
to  trusting  to  you,  I  shall  trust  you  to  the  end. 
Tell  me,  what  are  your  plans  .? ' 

'  My  plans.  .  .  .  Your  mother  certainly  will 
turn  me  out  of  the  house.' 

'  Perhaps.     She  told  me  yesterday  that  she 
169 


RUDIN 

must  break  off  all  acquaintance  with  you.  .  .  , 
But  you  do  not  answer  my  question  ?  ' 

*  What  question  ?  ' 

*  What  do  you  think  we  must  do  now  ? ' 

*  What  we  must  do  ?  *  replied  Rudin  ;  *  of 
course  submit.' 

'  Submit/  repeated  Natalya  slowly,  and  her 
lips  turned  white. 

*  Submit  to  destiny,'  continued  Rudin.  *  What 
is  to  be  done  ?  I  know  very  well  how  bitter  it 
is,  how  painful,  how  unendurable.  But  consider 
yourself,  Natalya  Alexyevna  ;  I  am  poor.  It  is 
true  I  could  work  ;  but  even  if  I  were  a  rich  man, 
could  you  bear  a  violent  separation  from  your 
family,  your  mother's  anger  ?  .  .  .  No,  Natalya 
Alexyevna  ;  it  is  useless  even  to  think  of  it.  It 
is  clear  it  was  not  fated  for  us  to  live  together, 
and  the  happiness  of  which  I  dreamed  is  not  for 
me!' 

All  at  once  Natalya  hid  her  face  in  her  hands 
and  began  to  weep.     Rudin  went  up  to  her. 

'  Natalya  Alexyevna  !  dear  Natalya ! '  he  said 
with  warmth,  *  do  not  cry,  for  God's  sake,  do 
not  torture  me,  be  comforted.' 

Natalya  raised  her  head. 
170 


RUDIN 

'You  tell  me  to  be  comforted/  she  began, 
and  her  eyes  blazed  through  her  tears  ;  *  I  am 
not  weeping  for  what  you  suppose — I  am  not 
sad  for  that ;  I  ^m  sad  because  I  have  been 
deceived  in  you.  .  .  .  What !  I  come  to  youTor 
counsel,  and  at  slich  a  moment ! — and  your  first 
word  is,  submit !  submit !  So  this  is  how  you 
translate  your  talk  of  independence,  of  sacrifice, 
which  .  ,  .' 

Her  voice  broke  down. 

'But,  Natalya  Alexyevna,'  began  Rudin  in 
confusion,  *  remember — I  do  not  disown  my 
words — only ' 

'You  asked  me,'  she  continued  with  new 
force, '  what  I  answered  my  mother,  when  she 
declared  she  would  sooner  agree  to  my  death 
than  my  marriage  to  you  ;  J  answered  that  I^ 
would  sooner  die  than  marry  any  otjier  man.  .  . 
And  you  say^J' Subniit !  "  It  must  be  that  she 
IS  ftgHt ;  you  must,  through  having  nothing  to 
do,  through  being  bored,  have  been  playing  with 
me.' 

'  I  swear  to  you,  Natalya  Alexyevna — I  assure 
you,'  maintained  Rudin. 

But  she  did  not  listen  to  him. 
171 


RUDIN 

*  Why  did  you  not  stop  me  ?  Why  did  you 
yourself — or  did  you  not  reckon  upon  obstacles? 
I  am  ashamed  to  speak  of  this — but  I  see  it  is 
all  over  now/ 

'You  must  be  calm,  Natalya  Alexyevna/ 
Rudin  was  beginning ;  '  we  must  think  to- 
gether what  means * 

*You  have  so  often  talked  of  self-sacrifice/ 
she  broke  in, '  but  do  you  know^. if  youh^dsaid 
to  Jme  to-day^at  once,  "  I  Ipye^ou,  but  I  cannot 
marry  youj  wШ_IюJt_  answex.for  future,  give' 
me  your  hand  and  come  with  me" — do  you 
Пшо\^  I  would  have  come^with  you  ;  do  you 
kaow,  L.would  have  risked  everything  ?  But 
tljereJsL^allJthe. difference  between  word  and 
deed,  and  you  were  afraid  now,  just  as  you 
were  afraid  the  day  before  yesterday  at  dinner 
of  Volintsev.' 

The  colour  rushed  to  Rudin's  face.  Natalya's 
unexpected  energy  had  astounded  him  ;  but 
her  last  words  wounded  his  vanity. 

*  You  are  too  angry  now,  Natalya  Alexyevna,' 
he  began  ;  *  you  cannot  realise  how  bitterly  you 
wound  me.  I  hope  that  in  time  you  will  do  me 
justice ;  you  will  understand  what  it  has  cost 

172 


RUDIN 

me  to  renounce  the  happiness  which  you  have 
said  yourself  would  have  laid  upon  me  no 
obligations.  Your  peace  is  dearer  to  me  than 
anything  in  the  world,  and  I  should  have  been 
the  basest  of  men,  if  I  could  have  taken 
advantage ' 

*  Perhaps,  perhaps,*  interrupted  Natalya,  *  per- 
haps you  are  right ;  I  don't  ki|^w  what  I  am 
saying.  But,.]yip  to  thi.s  time  T  bpijif^vedin  you^ 
believed  in  every  word  you  said.  .  .  .  For  the 
future,  praylceep  a  watch  upon  your  words,  do 
not  fling  them  about  at  hazard.  When  I  said 
to  you,  "  I  love  you,"  I  knew  what  that  word 
meant ;  I  was_ready  for  everything^__.  .  .  Now 
I  have  only  to  thank  you  for  a  lesson — and  to 
say  good-bye.' 

*  Stop,  for  God's  sake,  Natalya  Alexyevna,  I 
beseech  you.  I  do  not  deserve  your  contempt, 
I  swear  to  you.  Put  yourself  in  my  position.  I 
am  responsible  for  you  and  for  myself  If  I  did 
not  love  you  with  the  most  devoted  love — why, 
good  God  !  I  should  have  at  once  proposed  you 
should  run  away  with  me.  .  .  .  Sooner  or  later 
your  mother  would  forgive  us — and  then  .  .  . 
But  before  thinking  of  my  own  happiness * 

173 


RUDIN 

He  stopped.  Natalya's  eyes  fastened  directly 
upon  him  put  him  to  confusion. 

*You  try  to  prove  to  me  that  you  are  an 
honourable  man,  Dmitri  Nikolaitch/  she  said. 
'  I  do  not  doubt  that.  You  are  not  capable  of 
acting  from  calculation  ;  but  did  I  want  to 
be  convinced  of  that?  did  I  come  here  for 
that?' 

*  I  did  not  expect,  Natalya  Alexyevna ' 

*  Ah !  you  have  said  it  at  last !  Yes,  you  did 
not  expect  all  this — you  did  not  know  me.  Do 
not  be  uneasy  .  .  ,  you  do  not  love  me,  and  I 
will  never  force  myself  on  any  one.' 

*  I  love  you  ! '  cried  Rudin. 
Natalya  drew  herself  up. 

*  Perhaps  ;  but  how  do  you  love  me  ?  Re- 
member all  your  words,  Dmitri  Nikolaitch.  You 
told  me  :  "  Without  complete  equality  there  is 
no  love."  .  . .  You  are  too  exalted  for  me  ;  I  am 
no  match  for  you. ...  I  am  punished  as  I  deserve. 
There  are  duties  before  you  more  worthy  of  you. 
I  shall  not  forget  this  day.  .  .  .  Good-bye.' 

*  Natalya  Alexyevna,  are  you  going  ?  Is  it 
possible  for  us  to  part  like  this  ? ' 

He  stretched   out  his    hand   to   her.      She 
174 


RUDIN 

stopped.      His   supplicating  voice  seemed   to 
make  her  waver. 

*  No/  she  uttered  at  last.  *  I  feel  that  some- 
thing in  me  is  broken.  ...  I  came  here,  I  have 
been  talking  to  you  as  if  it  were  in  delirium  ;  T 
must  try  to  recollect.  It  must  not  be,  you  your- 
self said,  it  will  not  be.  Good  God,  when  I  came 
out  here,  I  mentally  took  a  farewell  of  my 
home,  of  my  past — and  what  ?  whom  have  I 
met  here  ?>— a  cowards  .  .  and  how  did  you 
know  I  was  not  able  to  bear  a  separation  from 
my  family  ?  "  Your  mother  will  not  consent. .  . . 
It  is  terrible ! "  That  was  all  I  heard  from 
you,  that  you,  you,  Rudin  i^ — No !  good-bye.  .  . . 
Ah !  if  you  had  loved  me,  I  should  have  felt 
it  now,  at  this  moment.  ,  ,  .  No,  no,  good- 
bye!' 

She  turned  swiftly  and  ran  towards  Masha, 
who  had  begun  to  be  uneasy  and  had  been 
making  signs  to  her  a  long  while. 

*  It  is  j/ou  who  are  afraid,  not  I ! '  cried  Rudin 
after  Natalya. 

She  paid  no  attention  to  him,  and  hastened 
homewards  across  the  fields.      She  succeeded 
in  getting  back  to  her  bedroom ;  but  she  had 
175 


RUDIN 

scarcely  crossed  the  threshold  when  her  strength 
failed  her,  and  she  fell  senseless  into  Masha's 
arms. 

But  Rudin  remained  a  long  while  still  stand- 
ing on  the  bank.  At  last  he  shivered,  and  with 
slow  steps  made  his  way  to  the  little  path  and 
quietly  walked  along  it.  He  was  deeply 
ashamed  .  .  .  and  wounded.  *  What  a  girl ! ' 
he  thought,  *  at  seventeen  !  .  .  .  No,  I  did  not 
know  her !  .  .  .  She  is  a  remarkable  girl.  What 
strength  of  will !  . .  .  She^ is  right ;  she  deserves 
another  love  than  what  I  felt  for  her.  Г  felt 
for  her  ? '  he  asked  himself.  '  Can  it  be  I 
already  feel  no  more  love  for  her }  So  this 
is  how  it  was  all  to  end  !  What  a  pitiful 
jKretch  I  was  beside  her !  * 

The  slight  rattle  of  a  racing  droshky  made 
Rudin  raise  his  head.  Lezhnyov  was  driving 
to  meet  him  with  his  invariable  trotting  pony. 
Rudin  bowed  to  him  without  speaking,  and  as 
though  struck  with  a  sudden  thought,  turned 
out  of  the  road  and  walked  quickly  in  the 
direction  of  Darya  Mihailovna's  house. 

Lezhnyov  let  him  pass,  looked  after  him,  and 
after  a  moment's  thought  he  too  turned  his 
176 


RUDIN 

horse's  head  round,  and  drove  back  to  Vollnt- 
sev's,  where  he  had  spent  the  night.  He  found 
him  asleep,  and  giving  orders  he  should  not  be 
waked,  he  sat  down  on  the  balcony  to  wait  for 
some  tea  and  smoked  a  pipe. 


^77 


VOLINTSEV  got  up  at  ten  o'clock.  When  he 
heard  that  Lezhnyov  was  sitting  in  the  balcony, 
he  was  much  surprised,  and  sent  to  ask  him  to 
come  to  him. 

'What  has  happened?*  he  asked  him.  *I 
thought  you  meant  to  drive  home  ? ' 

*  Yes ;  I  did  mean  to,  but  I  met  Rudin.  .  .  , 
He  was  wandering  about  the  country  with  such 
a  distracted  countenance.  So  I  turned  back  at 
once.' 

*  You  came  back  because  you  met  Rudin  ? ' 
'That's  to   say,— to  tell  the  truth,  I   don't 

know  why  I  came  back  myself,  I  suppose 
because  I  was  reminded  of  you  ;  I  wanted  to 
be  with  you,  and  I  have  plenty  of  time  before 
I  need  go  home.' 

Volintsev  smiled  bitterly. 

*  Yes  ;  one  cannot  think  of  Rudin  now  with- 

178 


I 


RUDIN 

out  thinking  of  me.  .  .  .  Boy ! '  he  cried  harshly, 
'  bring  us  some  tea/ 

The  friends  began  to  drink  tea.  Lezhnyov 
talked  of  agricultural  matters, — of  a  new  method 
of  roofing  barns  with  paper.  .  .  , 

Suddenly  Volintsev  leaped  up  from  his  chair 
and  struck  the  table  with  such  force  that  the 
cups  and  saucers  rang. 

*  No ! '  he  cried,  *  I  cannot  bear  this  any 
longer!  I  will  call  out  this  witty  fellow,  and 
let  him  shoot  me, — at  least  I  will  try  to  put  a 
bullet  through  his  learned  brains ! ' 

'  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  Upon  my 
word  Г  grumbled  Lezhnyov,  how  can  you  scream 
like  that  ?  I  dropped  my  pipe.  .  .  .  What 's 
the  matter  with  you  ? ' 

'  The  matter  is,  that  I  can't  hear  his  name  and 
keep  calm  ;  it  sets  all  my  blood  boiling ! ' 

'  Hush,  my  dear  fellow,  hush !  aren't  you 
ashamed?'  rejoined  Lezhnyov,pickinguphispipe 
from  the  ground.     *  Leave  off!  Let  him  alone  ! ' 

*  He  has  insulted  me,'  pursued  Volintsev, 
walking  up  and  down  the  room.  'Yes!  he 
has  insulted  me.  You  must  admit  that  your- 
self.    At   first   I   was   not  sharp   enough ;   he 

179 


RUDIN 

took  me  by  surprise ;  and  who  could  have 
expected  this  ?  But  I  will  show  him  that  he 
cannot  make  a  fool  of  me.  ...  I  will  shoot 
him,  the  damned  philosopher,  like  a  partridge.' 

*Much  you  will  gain  by  that,  indeed!  I 
won't  speak  of  your  sister  now.  I  can  see 
you  're  in  a  passion  .  .  .  how  could  you  think 
of  your  sister!  But  in  relation  to  another 
individual — what !  do  you  imagine,  when  you  've 
killed  the  philosopher,  you  can  improve  your 
own  chances  ? ' 

Volintsev  flung  himself  into  a  chair. 

*Then  I  must  go  away  somewhere!  For 
here  my  heart  is  simply  being  crushed  by 
misery ;  only  I  can  find  no  place  to  go.' 

*  Go  away  .  .  .  that 's  another  matter !  That 
I  am  ready  to  agree  to.  And  do  you  know 
what  I  should  suggest  ?  Let  us  go  together — 
to  the  Caucasus,  or  simply  to  Little  Russia  to 
eat  dumplings.  That 's  a  capital  idea,  my  dear 
fellow  1 ' 

*Yes;  but  whom  shall  we  leave  my  sister 
with?' 

'And  why  should  not  Alexandra  Pavlovna 
come  with  us  ?  Upon  my  soul,  it  will  be  splen- 
i8o 


RUDIN 

did.  As  for  looking  after  her — yes,  I  '11  under- 
take that !  There  will  be  no  difficulty  in  getting 
anything  we  want :  if  she  likes,  I  will  arrange  a 
serenade  under  her  window  every  night ;  I  will 
sprinkle  the  coachmen  with  eau  de  cologne  and 
strew  flowers  along  the  roads.  And  we  shall 
both  be  simply  new  men,  my  dear  boy  ;  we  shall 
enjoy  ourselves  so,  we  shall  come  back  so  fat 
that  we  shall  be  proof  against  the  darts  of  love ! ' 

*  You  are  always  joking,  Misha  ! ' 

*  I  'm  not  joking  at  all.    It  was  a  brilliant  idea 
of  yours/ 

'  No ;   nonsense  ! '  Volintsev  shouted   again. 
*  I  want  to  fight  him,  to  fight  him  1  .  .  .' 

*  Again  !    What  a  rage  you  are  in  !  * 

A  servant  entered  with  a  letter  in  his  hand. 

*  From  whom  ? '  asked  Lezhnyov. 

*From     Rudin,    Dmitri     Nikolaitch.       The 
Lasunsky's  servant  brought  it/ 

*  From  Rudin?'  repeated  Volintsev,  'to  whom?' 

*  To  you/ 

*  To  me !  .  ,  .  give  it  me  ! ' 

Volintsev  seized   the  letter,  quickly  tore  it 
open,  and  began  to  read.     Lezhnyov  watched 
him  attentively  ;  a  strange,  almost  joyful  amaze- 
i8i 


RUDIN 

ment  was  expressed  on  Volintsev's  face ;  he  let 
his  hands  fall  by  his  side. 

*  What  is  it  ? '  asked  Lezhnyov. 

*  Read  it/  Volintsev  said  in  a  low  voice,  and 
handed  him  the  letter. 

Lezhnyov  began  to  read.  This  is  what 
Rudin  wrote  i 

*SiR— 

*  I  am  going  away  from  Darya  Mihailovna's 
house  to-day,  and  leaving  it  for  ever.  This 
will  certainly  be  a  surprise  to  you,  especially 
after  what  passed  yesterday.  I  cannot  explain 
to  you  what  exactly  obliges  me  to  act  in  this 
way ;  but  it  seems  to  me  for  some  reason  that 
I  ought  to  let  you  know  of  my  departure.  You 
do  not  like  me,  and  even  regard  me  as  a  bad 
man.  I  do  not  intend  to  justify  myself;  time 
will  justify  me.  In  my  opinion  it  is  even 
undignified  in  a  man  and  quite  unprofitable  to 
try  to  prove  to  a  prejudiced  man  the  injustice 
of  his  prejudice.  Whoever  wishes  to  under- 
stand me  will  not  blame  me,  and  as  for  any 
one  who  does  not  wish,  or  cannot  do  so, — his 
censure  does  not  pain  me.     I  was  mistaken  in 

182 


RUDIN 

you.  In  my  eyes  you  remain  as  before  a  noble 
and  honourable  man,  but  I  imagined  you  were 
able  to  be  superior  to  the  surroundings  in  which 
you  were  brought  up.  I  was  mistaken.  What 
of  that  ?  It  is  not  the  first,  nor  will  it  be  the 
last  time.  I  repeat  to  you,  I  am  going  away. 
I  wish  you  all  happiness.  Confess  that  this 
wish  is  completely  disinterested,  and  I  hope 
that  now  you  will  be  happy.  Perhaps  in  time 
you  will  change  your  opinion  of  me.  Whether 
we  shall  ever  meet  again,  I  don't  know,  but  in 
any  case  I  remain  your  sincere  well-wisher, 

*D.  R. 

'  P.S.  The  two  hundred  roubles  I  owe  you  I 

will  send  directly  I  reach  my  estate  in  T 

province.  Also  I  beg  у  Л.'  not  to  speak  to 
Darya  Mihailovna  of  this  letter. 

*P.P.S.  One  last,  but  important  request 
more ;  since  I  am  going  away,  I  hope  you  will 
not  allude  before  Natalya  Alexyevna  to  my 
visit  to  you.' 

*Well,  what  do  you  say  to  that?'  asked 
Volintsev,  directly  Lezhnyov  had  finished  the 
letter. 

183 


RUDIN 

*What  IS  one  to  say?*  replied  Lezhnyov, 
*Cry  "Allah!  Allah!"  like  a  Mussulman  and 
sit  gaping  with  astonishment — that  *s  all  one 
can  do.  .  .  .  Well,  a  good  riddance  I  But  it 's 
curious  :  you  see  he  thought  it  his  duty  to  write 
you  this  letter,  and  he  came  to  see  you  from  a 
sense  of  duty  .  .  .  these  gentlemen  find  a  duty 
at  every  step,  some  duty  they  owe  ...  or 
some  debt/  added  Lezhnyov,  pointing  with 
a  smile  to  the  postscript. 

*And  what  .phrases  he  rounds  off!'  cried 
Volintsev.  '  He  was  mistaken  in  me.  He 
expected  I  would  be  superior  to  my  sur- 
roundings. What  a  rigmarole !  Good  God  !  it 's 
worse  than  poetry !  * 

Lezhnyov  made  **:-?  reply,  but  his  eyes  were 
smiling.     Volintsev  got  up. 

*I  want  to  go  to  Darya  Mihailovna's,'  he 
announced.  *  I  want  to  find  out  what  it  all 
means.* 

'  Wait  a  little,  my  dear  boy  ;  give  him  time  to 
get  off.  What 's  the  good  of  running  up  against 
him  again  ?  He  is  to  vanish,  it  seems.  What 
more  do  you  want?  Better  go  and  lie  down 
and  get  a  little  sleep ;  you  have  been  tossing 
184 


RUDIN 

about  all  night,  I  expect.    But  everything  will 
be  smooth  for  you.' 

*  What  leads  you  to  that  conclusion  ?  * 

*  Oh,  I  think  so.  There,  go  and  have  a  nap  ; 
I  will  go  and  see  your  sister.  I  will  keep  her 
company.' 

'  I  don't  want  to  sleep  in  the  least.  What's 
the  object  of  my  going  to  bed  ?  I  had  rather 
go  out  to  the  fields,'  said  Volintsev,  putting  on 
his  out-of-door  coat 

'Well,  that's  a  good  thing  too.  Go  along, 
and  look  at  the  fields.  ,  .  .' 

And  Lezhnyov  betook  himself  to  the  apart- 
ments of  Alexandra  Pavlovna.  He  found  her 
in  the  drawing-room.  She  welcomed  him 
effusively.  She  was  always  pleased  when  he 
came  ;  but  her  face  still  looked  sorrowful.  She 
was  uneasy  about  Rudin's  visit  the  day  be- 
fore. 

*You  have  seen  my  brother?'  she  asked 
Lezhnyov.      '  How  is  he  to-day  ? ' 

'  All  right,  he  has  gone  to  the  fields.* 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  did  not  speak  for  a 
minute. 

'  Tell  me,  please,'  she  began,  gazing  earnestly 
i8s 


RUDIN 

at  the  hem  of  her  pocket-handkerchief,  *  don't 
you  know  why  .  .  .' 

'Rudin  came  here?*  put  in  Lezhnyov.  *i 
know,  he  came  to  say  good-bye/ 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  lifted  up  her  head. 

*  What,  to  say  good-bye  ! ' 

'Yes.  Haven't  you  heard?  He  is  leaving 
Darya  Mihailovna's.' 

*  He  is  leaving  ? ' 

*  For  ever ;  at  least  he  says  so/ 

'But  pray,  how  is  one  to  explain  it,  after 
all?  .  .  / 

*  Oh,  that 's  a  different  matter !  To  explain 
it  is  impossible,  but  it  is  so.  Something  must 
have  happened  with  them.  He  pulled  the  string 
too  tight — and  it  has  snapped' 

*  Mihailo  Mihailitch ! '  began  Alexandra 
Pavlovna,  *  I  don't  understand  ;  you  are  laugh- 
ing at  me,  I  think.  .  .  / 

'  No  indeed  !  I  tell  you  he  is  going  away,  and 
he  even  let  his  friends  know  by  letter.  It's 
just  as  well,  I  daresay,  from  one  point  of  view ; 
but  his  departure  has  prevented  one  surprising 
enterprise  from  being  carried  out  that  I  had 
begun  to  talk  to  your  brother  about* 
i86 


RUDIN 

*  What  do  you  mean  ?     What  enterprise  ?  * 

*  Why,  I  proposed  to  your  brother  that  we 
should  go  on  our  travels,  to  distract  his  mind, 
and  take  you  with  us.  To  look  after  you 
especially  I  would  take  on  myself.  .  .  . 

'That's  capital!'  cried  Alexandra  Pavlovna. 
*  I  can  fancy  how  you  would  look  after  me. 
Why,  you  would  let  me  die  of  hunger.* 

*You  say  so,  Alexandra  Pavlovna,  because 
you  don't  know  me.  You  think  I  am  a  perfect 
blockhead,  a  log ;  but  do  you  know  I  am 
capable  of  melting  like  sugar,  of  spending 
whole  days  on  my  knees  ? ' 

*  I  should  like  to  see  that,  I  must  say  1 ' 
Lezhnyov  suddenly  got  up.   *  Well,  marry  me, 

Alexandra  Pavlovna,  and  you  will  see  all  that* 
Alexandra  Pavlovna  blushed  up  to  her  ears. 
*What   did   you   say,   Mihailo    Mihailitch?' 

she  murmured  in  confusion. 

*  I  said  what  it  has  been  for  ever  so  long,* 
answered  Lezhnyov,  *  on  the  tip  of  my  tongue 
to  say  a  thousand  times  over.  I  have  brought 
it  out  at  last,  and  you  must  act  as  you  think 
best.  But  I  will  go  away  now,  so  as  not  to  be 
in  your  way.     If  you  will  be  my  wife  ...  I 

187 


RUDIN 

Will  walk  away  ...  if  you  don't  dislike  the 
idea,  you  need  only  send  to  call  me  in  ;  I  shall 
understand.  .  .  .* 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  tried  to  keep  Lezhnyov, 
but  he  went  quickly  away,  and  going  into  the 
garden  without  his  cap,  he  leaned  on  a  little 
gate  and  began  looking  about  him. 

'  Mihailo  Mihailitch  ! '  sounded  the  voice  of 
a  maid-servant  behind  him,  *  please  come  in  to 
my  lady.     She  sent  me  to  call  you.* 

Mihailo  Mihailitch  turned  round,  took  the 
girl's  head  in  both  his  hands,  to  her  great 
astonishment,  and  kissed  her  on  the  forehead, 
then  he  went  in  to  Alexandra  Pavlovna. 


1 88 


XI 

On  returning  home,  directly  after  his  meeting 
with  Lezhnyov,  Rudin  shut  himself  up  in  his 
room,  and  wrote  two  letters  ;  one  to  Volintsev 
(already  known  to  the  reader)  and  the  other 
to  Natalya.  He  sat  a  very  long  time  over  this 
second  letter,  crossed  out  and  altered  a  great 
deal  in  it,  and,  copying  it  carefully  on  a  fine 
sheet  of  note-paper,  folded  it  up  as  small  as 
possible,  and  put  it  in  his  pocket  With  a  look 
of  pain  on  his  face  he  paced  several  times  up 
and  down  his  room,  sat  down  in  the  chair  before 
the  window,  leaning  on  his  arm  ;  a  tear  slowly 
appeared  upon  his  eyelashes.  He  got  up,  but- 
toned himself  up,  called  a  servant  and  told  him 
to  ask  Darya  Mihailovna  if  he  could  see  her. 

The  man  returned  guickly,  answering  that 
Darya  Mihailovna  would  be  delighted  to  see 
him.     Rudin  went  to  her. 
189 


RUDIN 

She  received  him  in  her  study,  as  she  had 
that  first  time,  two  months  before.  But  now 
she  was  not  alone ;  with  her  was  sitting  Pan- 
dalevsky,  unassuming,  fresh,  neat,  and  agreeable 
as  ever. 

Darya  Mihailovna  met  Rudin  affably,  and 
Rudin  bowed  affably  to  her ;  but  at  the  first 
glance  at  the  smiling  faces  of  both,  any  one  of 
even  small  experience  would  have  understood 
that  something  of  an  unpleasant  nature  had 
passed  between  them,  even  if  it  had  not  been 
expressed.  Rudin  knew  that  Darya  Mihailovna 
was  angry  with  him.  Darya  Mihailovna  sus- 
pected that  he  was  now  aware  of  all  that  had 
happened 

Pandalevsky's  disclosure  had  greatly  dis- 
turbed her.  It  touched  on  the  worldly  pride 
in  her.  Rudin,  a  poor  man  without  rank,  and 
so  far  without  distinction,  had  presumed  to 
make  a  secret  appointment  with  her  daughter — 
the  daughter  of  Darya  Mihailovna  Lasunsky. 

*  Granting  he  is  clever,  he  is  a  genius ! '  she 
said,  'what  does  that  prove?  Why,  any  one 
may  hope  to  be  my  son-in-law  after  that  ?* 

'  For  a  long  time  I  could  not  believe  my  eyes/ 
190 


RUDIN 

put  in  Pandalevsky.  *  I  am  surprised  at  his  not 
understanding  his  position  ! ' 

Darya  Mihailovna  was  very  much  agitated, 
and  Natalya  suffered  for  it. 

She  asked  Rudin  to  sit  down.  He  sat  down, 
but  not  like  the  old  Rudin,  almost  master  of  the 
house,  not  even  like  an  old  friend,  but  like  a 
guest,  and  not  even  a  very  intimate  guest.  All 
this  took  place  in  a  single  instant  ...  so  water 
is  suddenly  transformed  into  solid  ice. 

*I  have  come  to  you,  Darya  Mihailovna,' 
began  Rudin,  4o  thank  you  for  your  hospi- 
tality. I  have  had  some  news  to-day  from  my 
little  estate,  and  it  is  absolutely  necessary  for 
me  to  set  off  there  to-day.' 

Darya  Mihailovna  looked  attentively  at 
Rudin. 

*  He  has  anticipated  me  ;  it  must  be  because 
he  has  some  suspicion,'  she  thought.  *  He  spares 
one  a  disagreeable  explanation.  So  much  the 
better.     Ah !  clever  people  for  ever  ! ' 

*  Really  ? '  she  replied  aloud.  *  Ah  !  how  dis- 
appointing !  Well,  I  suppose  there  's  no  help 
for  it.  I  shall  hope  to  see  you  this  winter  in 
Moscow.     We  shall  soon  be  leaving  here.' 

191 


RUDIN 

'  I  don't  Know,  Darya  Mihailovna,  whether  I 
shall  succeed  in  getting  to  Moscow,  but,  if  I  can 
manage  it,  I  shall  regard  it  as  a  duty  to  call  on 
you.' 

*  Aha,  my  good  sir! '  Pandalevsky  in  his  turn 
reflected  ;  4t  's  not  long  since  you  behaved  like 
the  master  here,  and  now  this  is  how  you  have 
to  express  yourself !  * 

*  Then  I  suppose  you  have  unsatisfactory 
news  from  your  estate?'  he  articulated,  with 
his  customary  ease. 

Yes/  replied  Rudin  drily. 
*Some  failure  of  crops,  I  suppose?' 
No ;   something   else.     Believe   me,  Darya 
Mihailovna,'  added  Rudin,  '  I  shall  never  forget 
the  time  I  have  spent  in  your  house.' 

*  And  I,  Dmitri  Nikolaitch,  shall  always  look 
back  upon  our  acquaintance  with  you  with 
pleasure.     When  must  you  start  ? ' 

*  To-day,  after  dinner.' 

*  So  soon !  .  .  .  Well,  I  wish  you  a  successful 
journey.  But,  if  your  affairs  do  not  detain  you, 
perhaps  you  will  look  us  up  again  here.' 

'  I  shall  scarcely  have  time,'  replied   Rudin, 
getting  up.     *  Excuse  me,'  he  added  ;  *  I  cannot 
192 


RUDIN 

t  once  repay  yois  my  debt,  but  directly  I  reach 
ly  place ' 

'  Nonsense,  Dmitri  Nikolaitch  ! '  Darya  Mi- 
ailovna  cut  him  short.  '  I  wonder  you  Ve  not 
shamed  to  speak  of  it  I  .  .  .  What  o'clock  is 
;  ?  '  she  asked. 

Pandalevsky  drew  a  gold  and  enamel  watch 
•ut  of  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and  looked  at  it 
arefuUy,  bending  his  rosy  cheek  over  his  stiff, 
/hite  collar. 

'  Thirty  -  three  minutes  past  two,'  he  an- 
ounced. 

*  It  is  time  to  dress,'  observed  Darya  Mihai- 
Dvna.  *  Good-bye  for  the  present,  Dmitri  Niko- 
litch ! ' 

Rudin  got  up.  The  whole  conversation  be- 
ween  him  and  Darya  Mihailovna  had  a  special 
haracter.  In  the  same  way  actors  repeat  their 
»arts,  and  diplomatic  dignitaries  interchange 
heir  carefully-worded  phrases. 

Rudin  went  away.  He  knew  by  now  through 
xperience  that  men  and  women  of  the  world 
о  not  even  break  with  a  man  who  is  of  no 
urther  use  to  them,  but  simply  let  him  drop, 

ke  a  kid  glove  after  a   ball,  like  the    paper 

193  N 


RUDIN 

that  has  wrapped  up  sweets,  like  an  unsuccessful 
ticket  for  a  lottery. 

He  packed  quickly,  and  began  to  await  with 
impatience  the  moment  of  his  departure.  Every 
one  in  the  house  was  very  much  surprised  to 
hear  of  his  intentions  ;  even  the  servants  looked 
at  him  with  a  puzzled  air.  Bassistoff  did  not 
conceal  his  sorrow.  Natalya  evidently  avoided 
Rudin.  She  tried  not  to  meet  his  eyes.  He 
succeeded,  however,  in  slipping  his  note  into 
her  hand.  After  dinner  Darya  Mihailovnaj 
repeated  once  more  that  she  hoped  to  see  him 
before  they  left  for  Moscow,  but  Rudin  made 
her  no  reply.  Pandalevsky  addressed  him  more 
frequently  than  any  one.  More  than  once  Rudin 
felt  a  longing  to  fall  upon  him  and  give  him  a 
slap  on  his  rosy,  blooming  face.  Mile.  Boncourt 
often  glanced  at  Rudin  with  a  peculiarly  stealthy( 
expression  in  her  eyes ;  in  old  setter  dogs  one 
may  sometimes  see  the  same  expression. 

*  Aha ! '  she  seemed  to  be  saying  to  herself, 
'  so  you  're  caught !  * 

At  last  six  o'clock  struck,  and  Rudin's  car- 
riage was  brought  to  the  door.  He  began  to 
take  a  hurried  farewell  of  all.  He  had  a  feeling 
194 


RUDIN 

of  nausea  at  his  heart.  He  had  not  expected 
to  leave  this  house  like  this ;  it  seemed  as 
though  they  were  turning  him  out.  '  What  a 
way  to  do  it  all !  and  what  was  the  object  of 
being  in  such  a  hurry.?  Still,  it  is  better  so.' 
That  was  what  he  was  thinking  as  he  bowed 
in  all  directions  with  a  forced  smile.  For  the 
last  time  he  looked  at  Natalya,  and  his  heart 
throbbed  ;  her  eyes  were  bent  upon  him  in  sad, 
reproachful  farewell. 

He  ran  quickly  down  the  steps,  and  jumped 
into  his  carriage.  Bassistoff  had  offered  to  accom- 
pany him  to  the  next  station,  and  he  took  his 
seat  beside  him. 

*  Do  you  remember,*  began  Rudin,  directly 
the  carriage  had  driven  from  the  courtyard 
into  the  broad  road  bordered  with  fir-trees,  *  do 
you  remember  what  Don  Quixote  says  to  his 
squire  when  he  is  leaving  the  court  of  the 
duchess  ?  "  Freedom,"  he  says,  "  my  friend 
Sancho,  is  one  of  the  most  precious  posses- 
sions of  man,  and  happy  is  he  to  whom  Heaven 
has  given  a  bit  of  bread,  and  who  need  not  be 
indebted  to  any  one ! "  What  Don  Quixote 
felt  then,  I  feel  now.  .  .  .  God  grant,  my  dear 
195 


RUDIN 

BassistoflTjthat  you  too  may  some  day  experience 
this  feeling  1 ' 

Bassistoff  pressed  Rudin's  hand,and  the  honest 
boy's  heart  beat  violently  with  emotion.  Till 
they  reached  the  station  Rudin  spoke  of  the 
dignity  of  man,  of  the  meaning  of  true  inde- 
pendence. He  spoke  nobly,  fervently,  and 
justly,  and  when  the  moment  of  separation 
had  come,  Bassistoff  could  not  refrain  from 
throwing  himself  on  his  neck  and  sobbing. 
Rudin  himself  shed  tears  too,  but  he  was  not 
weeping  because  he  was  parting  from  Bassistoff. 
Щз  tears  were  the  tears  of  wounded  vanity. 

Natalya  had  gone  to  her  own  room,  and  there 
she  read  Rudin's  letter. 

*  Dear  Natalya  Alexyevna,'  he  wrote  her,  *  I 
have  decided  to  depart.  There  is  no  other 
course  open  to  me.  I  have  decided  to  leave 
before  I  am  told  plainly  to  go.  By  my  departure 
all  difficulties  will  be  put  an  end  to,  and  there 
will  be  scarcely  any  one  who  will  regret  me. 
What  else  did  I  expect?  ...  It  is  always  so, 
but  why  am  I  writing  to  you  ? 

*I  am  parting  from  you  probably  for  ever, 
and  it  would  be  too  painful  to  me  to  leave  you 
196 


RUDIN 

with  a  worse  recollection  of  me  than  I  deserve. 
This  is  why  I  am  writing  to  you.  I  do  not 
want  either  to  justify  myself  or  to  blame  any 
one  whatever  except  myself ;  I  want,  as  far  as 
possible,  to  explain  myself  .  .  .  The  events  of 
the  last  days  have  been  so  unexpected,  so 
sudden.  .  .  . 

'Our  interview  to-day  will  be  a  memorable 
lesson  to  me.  Yes,  you  are  right ;  I  did  not 
know  you,  and  I  thought  I  knew  you  !  In  the 
course  of  my  life  I  have  had  to  do  with  people 
of  all  kinds.  I  have  known  many  women  and 
young  girls,  but  in  you  I  met  for  the  first  time 
an  absolutely  true  and  upright  soul.  This  was 
something  I  was  not  used  to,  and  I  did  not 
know  how  to  appreciate  you  fittingly.  I  felt 
an  attraction  to  you  from  the  first  day  of  our 
acquaintance;  you  may  have  observed  it.  I 
spent  with  you  hour  after  hour  without  learning 
to  know  you ;  I  scarcely  even  tried  to  know 
you — and  I  could  imagine  that  I  loved  you ! 
For  this  sin  I  am  punished  now. 

*  Once  before  I  loved  a  woman,  and  she  loved 
me.  My  feeling  for  her  was  complex,  like  hers 
for  me ;  but,  as  she  was  not  simple  herself,  it 
197 


RUDIN 

was  all  the  better  for  her.  Truth  was  not  told 
to  me  then,  and  now  I  did  not  recognise  it 
when  it  was  offered  me.  ...  I  have  recognised 
it  at  last,  when  it  is  too  late.  .  .  .  What  is  past 
cannot  be  recalled.  .  .  .  Our  lives  might  have 
become  united,  and  they  never  will  be  united 
now.  How  can  I  prove  to  you  that  I  might 
have  loved  you  with  real  love — the  love  of  the 
heart,  not  of  the  fancy — when  I  do  not  know 
myself  whether  I  am  capable  of  such  love  ? 

'  Nature  has  given  me  much.  I  know  it,  and 
I  will  not  disguise  it  from  you  through  false 
modesty,  especially  now  at  a  moment  so  bitter, 
so  humiliating  for  me.  .  .  .  Yes,  Nature  has 
given  me  much,  but  I  shall  die  without  doing 
anything  worthy  of  my  powers,  without  leaving 
any  trace  behind  me.  All  my  wealth  is  dissi- 
pated idly  ;  I  do  not  see  the  fruits  of  the  seeds 
I  sow.  I  am  wanting  in  something.  I  cannot 
say  myself  exactly  what  it  is  I  am  wanting 
in.  ...  I  am  wanting,  certainly,  in  something 
without  which  one  cannot  move  men's  hearts, 
or  wholly  win  a  woman's  heart ;  and  to  sway 
men's  minds  alone  is  precarious,  and  an  empire 
ever  unprofitable.  A  strange,  almost  farcical 
198 


RUDIN 

fate  IS  mine  ;  I  would  devote  myself — eagerly 
and  wholly  to  some  cause, — and  I  cannot  devote 
myself.  I  shall  end  by  sacrificing  myself  to 
some  folly  or  other  in  which  I  shall  not  even 
believe.  .  .  .  Alas  !  at  thirty-five  to  be  still 
preparing  for  something !  .  .  . 

'  I  have  never  spoken  so  openly  of  myself  to 
any  one  before — this  is  my  confession. 

'  But  enough  of  me.  I  should  like  to  speak  of 
you,  to  give  you  some  advice ;  I  can  be  no  use 
to  you  further.  .  .  .  You  are  still  young  ;  but 
as  long  as  you  live,  always  follow  the  impulse 
of  your  heart,  do  not  let  it  be  subordinated  to 
your  mind  or  the  mind  of  others.  Believe  me, 
the  simpler,  the  narrower  the  circle  in  which 
life  is  passed  the  better  ;  the  great  thing  is  not 
to  open  out  new  sides,  but  that  all  the  phases  of 
life  should  reach  perfection  in  their  own  time. 
"Blessed  is  he  who  has  been  young  in  his  youth." 
But  I  see  that  this  advice  applies  far  more  to 
myself  than  to  you. 

'  I   confess,  Natalya  Alexyevna,  I    am  very 

unhappy.     I  never  deceived  myself  as  to  the 

nature  of  the  feeling  which  I  inspired  in  Darya 

Mihailovna ;  but  I  hoped  I  had  found  at  least 

199     . 


RUDIN  ^ 

a  temporary  home.  .  .  .  Now  I  must  take  the 
chances  of  the  rough  world  again.  What  will 
replace  for  me  your  conversation,  your  pre- 
sence, your  attentive  and  intelligent  face  ?  .  .  . 
I  myself  am  to  blame ;  but  admit  that  fate 
seems  to  have  designed  a  jest  at  my  expense. 
A  week  ago  I  did  not  even  myself  suspect  that 
X  loved  you.  The  day  before  yesterday,  that 
evening  in  the  garden,  I  for  the  first  time  heard 
from  your  lips,  .  .  .  but  why  remind  you  of 
what  you  said  then  ?  and  now  I  am  going  away 
to-day.  I  am  going  away  disgraced,  after  a 
cruel  explanation  with  you,  carrying  with  me 
no  hope.  .  .  .  And  you  do  not  know  yet  to 
what  a  degree  I  am  to  blame  as  regards  you. 
.  .  I  have  such  a  foolish  lack  of  reserve,  such 
a  weak  habit  of  confiding.  But  why  speak  of 
this  ?     I  am  leaving  you  for  ever ! ' 

(Here  Hudin  had  related  to  Natalya  his 
visit4o  Volintsev,  but  on  second  thoughts  he 
erased  all  that  part,  and  added  the  second 
postscript  to  his  letter  to  Volintsev.) 

*  I  remain  alone  upon  earth  to  devote  myself, 
as  you  said  to  me  this  morning  with  bitter 
irony,  to  other  interests  more  congenial  to  me. 

I 


RUDIN 

Alas  !  if  I  could  really  devote  myself  to  these 
interests,  if  I  could  at  last  conquer  my  inertia. 
.  .  .  But  no  1  I  shall  remain  to  the  end  the 
incomplete  creature  I  have  always  been.  .  .  . 
The  first  obstacle,  .  .  .  and  I  collapse  entirely ; 
whatjias  passed  v.ith  you  has  shown  me_thaL 
If  I  had  but  sacrificed  my  love  to  my  future 
work,  to  my  vocation  ;  but  I  simply  was  afraid 
of  the  responsibility  that  had  fallen  upon  me, 
and  therefore  I  am,  truly,  unworthy  of  you.  I 
do  not  deserve  that  you  should  be  torn  out  of 
your  sphere  for  me.  ,  .  .  And  indeed  all  this, 
perhaps,  is  for  the  best  I  shall  perhaps  be  the 
stronger  and  the  purer  for  this  experience.     ^ 

*  I  wish  you  all  happiness.  Farewell !  Tmnk  j 
sometimes  of  me.  I  hope  that  you  may  still ' 
hear  of  me. 

Natalya  let  Rudin's  letter  drop  on  to  her  lap, 
and  sat  a  long  time  motionless,  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  ground.  This  letter  proved  to  her  clearer 
than  all  possible  arguments  that  she  had  been 
right,  when  in  the  morning,  at  her  parting  with 
Rudin,  she  had  involuntarily  cried  out  that  he 

20I 


RUDIN 

did  not  love  her !  But  that  made  things  no 
easier  for  her.  She  sat  perfectly  still  ;  it  seemed 
as  though  waves  of  darkness  without  a  ray  of 
light  had  closed  over  her  head,  and  she  had 
gone  down  cold  and  dumb  to  the  depths.  The 
first  disillusionment  is  painful  for  every  one ; 
but  for  a  sincere  heart,  averse  to  self-deception 
and  innocent  of  frivolity  or  exaggeration,  it  is 
almost  unendurable.  Natalya  remembered  her 
childhood,  how,  when  walking  in  the  evening, 
she  always  tried  to  go  in  the  direction  of  the 
setting  sun,  where  there  was  light  in  the  sky, 
and  not  toward  the  darkened  half  of  the 
heavens.  Life  now  stood  in  darkness  before 
her,  and  she  had  turned  her  back  on  the  light 
for  ever.  ... 

Tears  started  into  Natalya's  eyes.  Tears  do 
not  always  bring  relief.  They  are  comforting 
and  salutary  when,  after  being  long  pent  up 
in  the  breast,  they  flow  at  last — at  first  with 
violence,  and  then  more  easily,  more  softly  ; 
the  dumb  agony  of  sorrow  is  over  with  the 
tears.  .  .  .  But  there  are  cold  tears,  tears  that 
flow  sparingly,  wrung  out  drop  by  drop  from 
the  heart  by  the  immovable,  weary  weight  of 
202 


RUDIN 

pain  laid  upon  it :  they  are  not  comforting,  and 
bring  no  relief.  Poverty  weeps  such  tears  ;  and 
the  man  has  not  yet  been  unhappy  who  has  not 
shed  them.     Natalya  knew  them  on  that  day. 

Two  hours  passed.  Natalya  pulled  herself 
together,  got  up,  wiped  her  eyes,  and,  lighting 
a  candle,  she  burnt  Rudin's  letter  in  the  flame, 
and  threw  the  ash  out  of  window.  Then  she 
opened  Pushkin  at  random,  and  read  the  first 
lines  that  met  her.  (She  often  made  it  her 
oracle  in  this  way.)     This  is  what  she  saw  : 

'  When  he  has  known  its  pang,  for  him 
The  torturing  ghost  of  days  that  are  no  more, 
For  him  no  more  illusion,  but  remorse 
And  memory's  serpent  gnawing  at  his  heart.' 

She  stopped,  and  with  a  cold  smile  looked  at 
herself  in  the  glass,  slightly  nodded  her  head, 
and  went  down  to  the  drawing-room. 

Darya  Mihailovna,  directly  she  saw  her, 
called  her  into  her  study,  made  her  sit  near 
her,  and  caressingly  stroked  her  cheek. 
Meanwhile  she  gazed  attentively,  almost  with 
curiosity,  into  her  eyes.  Darya  Mihailovna 
was  secretly  perplexed  ;  for  the  first  time  it 
struck  her  that  she  did  not  really  understand 
203 


RUDIN 

her  daughter.  When  she  had  heard  from  Pai 
dalevsky  of  her  meeting  with  Rudin,  she  Wc 
not  so  much  displeased  as  amazed  that  he 
sensible  Natalya  could  resolve  upon  such 
step.  But  when  she  had  sent  for  her,  and  fe 
to  upbraiding  her — not  at  all  as  one  would  hav 
expected  from  a  lady  of  European  renown,  bi 
with  loud  and  vulgar  abuse — Natalya's  firm  г€ 
plies,  and  the  resolution  of  her  looks  and  move 
ments,  had  confused  and  even  intimidated  her 

Rudin's    sudden,   and    wholly   unexplainec 
departure  had  taken  a  great  load  off  her  heari 
but  she  had  expected  tears,  and  hysterics.  .  . 
iNatalya's  outward  composure  threw  her  out  о 
her  reckoning  again. 

*Well,  child,'  began  Darya  Mihailovna 
*how  are  you  to-day?'  Natalya  looked  a. 
her  mother.  *  He  is  gone,  you  see  .  .  .  you;: 
hero.  Do  you  know  why  he  decided  on  goin^ 
so  quickly  ?' 

*  Mamma  ! '  said  Natalya  in  a  low  voice,  *  1 
give  you  my  word,  if  you  will  not  mention  him. 
you  shall  never  hear  his  name  from  me.' 

'Then   you   acknowledge  how  wrongly  yoi' 
behaved  to  me  ? ' 

204 


RUDIN 

Natalya  looked  down  and  repeated : 

'  You  shall  never  hear  his  name  from  me/ 

'  Well,  well/  answered  Darya  Mihailovna 
1th  a  smile,  Ч  believe  you.  But  the  day 
efore  yesterday,  do  you  remember  how — There, 
'6  will  pass  that  over.  It  is  all  over  and 
uried  and  forgotten.  Isn't  it  ?  Come,  I  know 
ou  again  now ;  but  I  was  altogether  puzzled 
len.     There,  kiss  me  like  a  sensible  girl !  * 

Natalya  lifted  Darya  Mihailovna's  hand  to 
er  lips,  and  Darya  Mihailovna  kissed  her 
Looping  head. 

*  Always  listen  to  my  advice.  Do  not  forget 
lat  you  are  a  Lasunsky  and  my  daughter ' 
he  added,  *  and  you  will  be  happy.  And  now 
ou  may  go.' 

Natalya  went  away  in  silence.  Darya 
/lihailovna  looked  after  her  and  thought :  *  She 
;  like  me — she  too  will  let  herself  be  carried 
way  by  her  feelings ;  mats  ella  aura  mozns 
Vabandon'  And  Darya  Mihailovna  fell  to 
nusing  over  memories  of  the  past  ...  of  the 
iistant  past. 

Then  she  summoned  Mile.  Boncourt  and 
emained  a  long  while  closeted  with  her. 
205 


RUDIN 

When  she  had  dismissed  her  she  sent  for 
Pandalevsky.  She  wanted  at  all  hazards  to 
discover  the  real  cause  of  Rudin's  departure  . , . 
but  Pandalevsky  succeeded  in  completely 
satisfying  her.     It  was  what  he  was  there  for. 

The  next  day  Volintsev  and  his  sister  came 
to  dinner.  Darya  Mihailovna  was  always 
very  affable  to  him,  but  this  time  she  was 
especially  cordial  to  him.  Natalya  felt  unbear- 
ably miserable ;  but  Volintsev  was  so  respectful, 
and  addressed  her  so  timidly,  that  she  could 
not  but  be  grateful  to  him  in  her  heart.  The 
day  passed  quietly,  rather  tediously,  but  all  felt 
as  they  separated  that  they  had  fallen  back  into 
the  old  order  of  things  ;  and  that  means  much, 
very  much. 

Yes,  all  had  fallen  back  into  their  old  order 
— all  except  Natalya.  When  at  last  she  was 
able  to  be  alone,  she  dragged  herself  with 
difficulty  into  her  bed,  and,  weary  and  worn  out, 
fell  with  her  face  on  the  pillow.  Life  seemed 
so  cruel,  so  hateful,  and  so  sordid,  she  was  so 
ashamed  of  herself,  her  love,  and  her  sorrow, 
that  at  that  moment  she  would  have  been  glad 
206 


RUDIN 

to  die.  .  ,  .  There  were  many  sorrowful  days  in 
store  for  her,  and  sleepless  nights  and  torturing 
emotions  ;  but  she  was  young — life  had  scarcely 
begun  for  her,  and  sooner  or  later  life  asserts  its 
claims.  Whatever  blow  has  fallen  on  a  man,  he 
must — forgive  the  coarseness  of  the  expression 
— eat  that  day  or  at  least  the  next,  and  that  is 
the  first  step  to  consolation. 

Natalya  suffered  terribly,  she  suffered  for  the 
first  time.  .  .  .  But  the  first  sorrow,  like  first 
love,  does  not  come  again — and  thank  God 
for  it  I 


J07 


XII 

About  two  years  had  passed.  The  first  days 
of  May  had  come.  Alexandra  Pavlovna, 
no  longer  Lipin  but  Lezhnyov,  was  sitting  on 
the  balcony  of  her  house ;  she  had  been 
married  to  Mihailo  Mihailitch  for  more  than 
a  year.  She  was  as  charming  as  ever,  and  had 
only  grown  a  little  stouter  of  late.  In  front  of 
the  balcony,  from  which  there  were  steps 
leading  into  the  garden,  a  nurse  was  walking 
about  carrying  a  rosy-cheeked  baby  in  her  arms, 
in  a  white  cloak,  with  a  white  cap  on  his  head. 
Alexandra  Pavlovna  kept  her  eyes  constantly 
on  him.  The  baby  did  not  cry,  but  sucked  his 
thumb  gravely  and  looked  about  him.  He 
was  already  showing  himself  a  worthy  son  of 
Mihailo  Mihailitch. 

On  the  balcony,  near  Alexandra  Pavlovna, 
was  sitting  our  old  friend,  Pigasov.     He  had 
208 


RUDIN 

grown  noticeably  greyer  since  we  parted  from 
him,  and  was  bent  and  thin,  and  he  lisped 
when  he  spoke  ;  one  of  his  front  teeth  had 
gone  ;  and  this  lisp  gave  still  greater  asperity 
to  his  words.  .  .  .  His  spitefulness  had  not 
decreased  with  years,  but  his  sallies  were  less 
lively,  and  he  more  frequently  repeated  himself. 
Mihailo  Mihailitch  was  not  at  home ;  they 
were  expecting  him  in  to  tea.  The  sun  had 
already  set.  Where  it  had  gone  down,  a  streak 
of  pale  gold  and  of  lemon  colour  stretched 
across  the  distant  horizon ;  on  the  opposite 
quarter  of  the  sky  was  a  stretch  of  dove-colour 
below  and  crimson  lilac  above.  Light  clouds 
seemed  melting  away  overhead.  There  was 
every  promise  of  prolonged  fine  weather. 

Suddenly  Pigasov  burst  out  laughing. 

*What  is  it,  African  Semenitch?'  inquired 
Alexandra  Pavlovna. 

'  Oh,  yesterday  I  heard  a  peasant  say  to  his 
wife— she  had  been  chattering  away — "don't 
squeak  ! "  I  liked  that  immensely.  Arid  after 
all,  what  can  a  woman  talk  about  ?  I  never, 
you  know,  speak  of  present  company.  Our 
ancestors  were  wiser  than  we.  The  beauty  in 
209  о 


RUDIN 

their  stories  always  sits  at  the  window  with  a 
star  on  her  brow  and  never  utters  a  syllable. 
That 's  how  it  ought  to  be.  Think  of  it !  the 
day  before  yesterday,  our  marshal's  wife — she 
might  have  sent  a  pistol-shot  into  my  head  ! — 
says  to  me  she  doesn't  like  my  tendencies ! 
Tendencies  1  Come,  wouldn't  it  be  better  for 
her  and  for  every  one  if  by  some  beneficent 
ordinance  of  nature  she  were  suddenly  deprived 
of  the  use  of  her  tongue  ? ' 

'  Oh,  you  are  always  like  that,  African  Seme- 
nitch ;  you  are  always  attacking  us  poor  .  .  . 
Do  you  know  it 's  a  misfortune  of  a  sort,  really? 
I  am  sorry  for  you.' 

*  A  misfortune !  Why  do  you  say  that  ? 
To  begin  with,  in  my  opinion,  there  are 
only  three  misfortunes  :  to  live  in  winter  in  cold 
lodgings,  in  summer  to  wear  tight  shoes,  and  to 
spend  the  night  in  a  room  where  a  baby  cries 
whom  you  can't  get  rid  of  with  Persian  powder  ; 
and  secondly,  I  am  now  the  most  peaceable  of 
men.  Why,  I  'm  a  model  1  You  know  how 
properly  I  behave ! ' 

'  Fine  behaviour,  indeed  !  Only  yesterday 
Elena  Antonovna  complained  to  me  of  you.' 

2IO 


RUDIN 

*  Well !  And  what  did  she  tell  you,  if  I  may 
know?' 

'She  told  me  that  for  one  whole  morning 
you  would  make  no  reply  to  all  her  questions 
but  "what?  what?"  and  always  in  the  same 
squeaking  voice.' 

Pigasov  laughed. 

'  But  that  was  a  happy  idea,  you  '11  allow, 
Alexandra  Pavlovna,  eh  ? ' 

*  Admirable,  indeed  I  Can  you  really  have  be- 
haved so  rudely  to  a  lady,  African  Semenitch  ? ' 

'  What !  Do  you  regard  Elena  Antonovna  as 
a  lady  ? ' 

'  What  do  you  regard  her  as  ? ' 

*  A  drum,  upon  my  word,  an  ordinary  drum 
such  as  they  beat  with  sticks/ 

*  Oh,'  interrupted  Alexandra  Pavlovna, 
anxious  to  change  the  conversation,  *  they  tell 
me  one  may  congratulate  you.' 

*  Upon  what  ? ' 

*  The  end  of  your  lawsuit.  The  Glinovsky 
meadows  are  yours.' 

'Yes,  they  are  mine,'  replied  Pigasov  gloomily. 

*  You  have  been  trying  to  gain  this  so  many 
years,  and  now  you  seem  discontented.* 

211 


RUDIN 

*  I  assure  you,  Alexandra  Pavlovna/  said 
Pigasov  slowly,  *  nothing  can  be  worse  and 
more  injurious  than  good-fortune  that  comes  too 
late.  It  cannot  give  you  pleasure  in  any  way, 
and  it  deprives  you  of  the  right — the  precious 
right — of  complaining  and  cursing  Providence. 
Yes,  madam,  it 's  a  cruel  and  insulting  trick- 
belated  fortune.' 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  only  shrugged  her 
shoulders. 

'  Nurse/  she  began,  *  I  think  it 's  time  to  put 
Misha  to  bed.     Give  him  to  me.' 

While  Alexandra  Pavlovna  busied  herself 
with  her  son,  Pigasov  walked  off  muttering  to 
the  other  corner  of  the  balcony. 

Suddenly,  not  far  off  on  the  road  that  ran 
the  length  of  the  garden,  Mihailo  Mihailitch 
made  his  appearance  driving  his  racing 
droshky.  Two  huge  house-dogs  ran  before  the 
horse,  one  yellow,  the  other  grey,  both  only 
lately  obtained.  They  incessantly  quarrelled, 
and  were  inseparable  companions.  An  old 
pug-dog  came  out  of  the  gate  to  meet 
them.  He  opened  his  mouth  as  if  he  were 
going  to  bark,  but  ended  by  yawning  and 
aia 


RUDIN 

turning  back  again  with  a  friendly  wag  of  the 
tail. 

*  Look  here,  Sasha/  cried  Lezhnyov,  from  the 
distance,  to  his  wife,  '  whom  I  am  bringing  you.' 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  did  not  at  once  recog- 
nise the  man  who  was  sitting  behind  her  hus- 
band's back. 

*  Ah  !  Mr.  Bassistoff ! '  she  cried  at  last 

*  It 's  he/  answered  Lezhnyov ;  *  and  he  has 
brought  such  glorious  news.  Wait  a  minute, 
you  shall  know  directly.' 

And  he  drove  into  the  courtyard. 
Some  minutes  later  he  came  with  Bassistoff 
into  the  balcony. 

*  Hurrah  I '  he  cried,  embracing  his  wife, 
*  Serezha  is  going  to  be  married.' 

*  To  whom  ?  '  asked  Alexandra  Pavlovna, 
much  agitated. 

^Xo—blatabia,  of  course.  Our  friend  has 
brought  the  news  from  Moscow,  and  there  is 
a  letter  for  you.' 

*Do  you   hear,  Misha,'  he  went  on,  snatch- 
ing his  son  into  his  arms,  '  your  uncle  's  going 
to   be   married  ?     What  criminal  indifference  ! 
he  only  blinks  his  eyes  ! ' 
213 


RUDIN 

*  He  is  sleepy,'  remarked  the  nurse. 

*  Yes/  said  Bassistofif,  going  up  to  Alexandra 
Pavlovna,  *  I  have  come  to-day  from  Moscow  on 
business  for  Darya  Mihailovna — to  go  over  the 
accounts  on  the  estate.     And  here  is  the  letter.' 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  opened  her  brother's 
letter  in  haste.  It  consisted  of  a  few  lines  only. 
In  the  first  transport  of  joy  he  informed  his 
sister  that  he  had  made  Natalya  an  offer,  and 
received  her  consent  and  Darya  Mihailovna's ; 
and  he  promised  to  write  more  by  the  next 
post,  and  sent  embraces  and  kisses  to  all.  It 
was  clear  he  was  writing  in  a  state  of  delirium. 

Tea  was  served,  Bassistoff  sat  down.  Ques- 
tions were  showered  upon  him.  Every  one,  even 
Pigasov,  was  delighted  at  the  news  he  had 
brought. 

*  Tell  me,  please,'  said  Lezhnyov  among  the 
rest,  'rumours  reached  us  of  a  certain  Mr. 
Kortchagin.    That  was  all  nonsense,  I  suppose  ? ' 

Kortchagin  was  a  handsome  young  man,  a 
society  lion,  excessively  conceited  and  impor- 
tant ;  he  behaved  with  extraordinary  dignity, 
just  as  if  he  had  not  been  a  living  man,  but  his 
own  statue  set  up  by  public  subscription. 
214 


RUDIN 

*Well,  no,  not  altogether  nonsense/  replied 
.Bassistoft  with  a  smile  ;  '  Darya  Mihailovna  was 
very  favourable  to  him  ;  but  Natalya  Alexyevna 
would  not  even  hear  of  him.' 

*  I  know  him/  put  in  Pigasov,  *  he 's  a  double 
dummy,  a  noisy  dummy,  if  you  like  !  If  all 
people  were  like  that,  it  would  need  a  large  sum 
of  money  to  induce  one  to  consent  to  live — 
upon  my  word  ! ' 

'Very  likely/  answered  Bassistoff;  *  but  he 
plays  a  leading  part  in  society/ 

'Well,  never  mind  him!'  cried  Alexandra 
Pavlovna.  *  Peace  be  with  him !  Ah !  how 
glad  I  am  for  my  brother !  And  Natalya,  is  she 
bright  and  happy  ? ' 

*Yes.  She  is  quiet,  as  she  always  is.  You 
know  her — but  she  seems  contented.' 

The  evening  was  spent  in  friendly  and  lively 
talk.     They  sat  down  to  supper. 

*  Oh,  by  the  way/  inquired  Lezhnyov  of 
Bassistoff,  as  he  poured  him  out  some  Lafitte, 
*  do  you  know  where  Rudin  is  ? ' 

*  I  don't  know  for  certain  now.  He  came  last 
winter  to  Moscow  for  a  short  time,  and  then 
went   with    a    family   to   Simbirsk.     I   corre- 

2IS 


RUDIN 

sponded  with  him  for  some  time  ;  in  his  last 
letter  he  informed  me  he  was  leaving  Simbirsk 
— he  did  not  say  where  he  was  going — and 
since  then  I  have  heard  nothing  of  him.' 

*  He  is  all  right ! '  put  in  Pigasov.  *  He  is 
staying  somewhere  sermonising.  That  gentle- 
man will  always  find  two  or  three  adherents 
everywhere,  to  listen  to  him  open-mouthed 
and  lend  him  money.  You  will  see  he  will 
end  by  dying  in  some  out-of-the-way  corner 
in  the  arms  of  an  old  maid  in  a  wig,  who 
will  believe  he  is  the  greatest  genius  in  the 
world.' 

*  You  speak  very  harshly  of  him,'  remarked 
Bassistoff,  in  a  displeased  undertone. 

'  Not  a  bit  harshly,'  replied  Pigasov  ;  *  but 
perfectly  fairly.  In  my  opinion,  he  is  simply 
nothing  else  than  a  sponge.  I  forgot  to  tell 
you,'  he  continued,  turning  to  Lezhnyov,  'that 
I  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  that  Terlahov, 
with  whom  Rudin  travelled  abroad.  Yes !  Yes ! 
What  he  told  me  of  him,  you  cannot  imagine 
— it's  simply  screaming!  It's  a  remarkable 
fact  that  all  Rudin's  friends  and  ■  admirers 
become  in  time  his  enemies/ 
216 


RUDIN 

^  I  beg  you  to  except  me  from  the  number 
of  such  friends  ! '  interposed  Bassistoff  warmly. 

*  Oh,  you — that 's  a  different  thing  !  I  was 
not  speaking  of  you.' 

'But  what  did  Terlahov  tell  you?'  asked 
Alexandra  Pavlovna. 

*  Oh,  he  told  me  a  great  deal ;  there  's  no  re- 
membering it  all.  But  the  best  of  all  was  an 
anecdote  of  what  happened  to  Rudin.  As  he 
was  incessantly  developing  (these  gentlemen 
always  are  developing ;  other  people  simply 
sleep  and  eat ;  but  they  manage  their  sleeping 
and  eating  in  the  intervals  of  development ; 
isn't  that  it,  Mr.  Bassistoff? '  Bassistoff  made 
no  reply.)  '  And  so,  as  he  was  continually  de- 
veloping, Rudin  arrived  at  the  conclusion,  by 
means  of  philosophy,  that  he  ought  to  fall  in 
love.  He  began  to  look  about  for  a  sweet- 
heart worthy  of  such  an  astonishing  conclusion. 
Fortune  smiled  upon  him.  He  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  a  very  pretty  French  dressmaker. 
The  whole  incident  occurred  in  a  German  town 
on  the  Rhine,  observe.  He  began  to  go  and 
see  her,  to  take  her  various  books,  to  talk  to 
her  of  Nature  and  Hegel.     Can  you  fancy  the 

217 


RUDIN 

position  of  the  dressmaker  ?  She  took  him  for 
an  astronomer.  However,  you  know  he 's  not  a 
bad-looking  fellow — and  a  foreigner,  a  Russian, 
of  course — he  took  her  fancy.  Well,  at  last  he 
invited  her  to  a  rendezvous,  and  a  very  poetical 
rendezvous,  in  a  boat  on  the  river.  The  French- 
woman agreed  ;  dressed  herself  in  her  best  and 
went  out  with  him  in  a  boat.  So  they  spent 
two  hours.  How  do  you  think  he  was  occupied 
all  that  time?  He  patted  the  Frenchwoman 
on  the  head,  gazed  thoughtfully  at  the  sky,  and 
frequently  repeated  that  he  felt  for  her  the 
tenderness  of  a  father.  The  Frenchwoman 
went  back  home  in  a  fury,  and  she  herself  told 
the  story  to  Terlahov  afterwards  I  That 's  the 
kind  of  fellow  he  is.' 

And  Pigasov  broke  into  a  loud  laugh. 

*  You  old  cynic ! '  said  Alexandra  Pavlovna 
in  a  tone  of  annoyance,  *  but  I  am  more  and 
more  convinced  that  even  those  who  attack 
Rudin  cannot  find  any  harm  to  say  of  him.* 

*  No  harm  ?  Upon  my  word  !  and  his  per- 
petual living  at  other  people's  expense,  his 
borrowing  money.  .  ,  .  Mihailo  Mihailitch,  he 
borrowed  of  you  too,  no  doubt,  didn't  he  ? ' 

218 


RUDIN 

*  Listen,  African  Semenitch  I '  began  Lezh- 
nyov,  and  his  face  assumed  a  serious  expres- 
sion, '  listen  ;  you  know,  and  my  wife  knows, 
that  the  last  time  I  saw  him  I  felt  no  special 
attachment  for  Rudin,  and  I  even  often  blamed 
him.  For  all  that  (Lezhnyov  filled  up  the 
glasses  with  champagne)  this  is  what  I  suggest 
to  you  now ;  we  have  just  drunk  to  the  health 
of  my  dear  brother  and  his  future  bride;  I 
propose  that  you  drink  now  to  the  health  of 
Dmitri  Rudin !  * 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  and  Pigasov  looked  in 
astonishment  at  Lezhnyov,  but  Bassistoff  sat 
wide-eyed,  blushing  and  trembling  all  over 
with  delight 

'  I  know  him  well,'  continued  Lezhnyov,  *  I 
am  well  aware  of  his  faults.  They  are  the 
more  conspicuous  because  he  himself  is  not 
on  a  small  scale.' 

'Rudin has  character,genius!'  cried  Bassistoff. 

'Genius,  very  likely  he  has!'  replied  Lezhnyov, 
'  but  as  for  character  .  .  .  That 's  just  his  mis- 
fortune, that  there 's  no  character  in  him.  .  . 
But  that's  not  the  point.  I  want  to  speak 
of  what  is  good,  of  what  is  rare  in  him.  He 
ai9 


RUDIN 

has  enthusiasm  ;  and  believe  me,  who  am  a 
phlegmatic  person  enough,  that  is  the  most 
precious  quality  in  our  times.  We  have  all 
become  insufferably  reasonable,  indifferent,  and 
slothful ;  we  are  asleep  and  cold,  and  thanks 
to  any  one  who  will  wake  us  up  and  warm  us ! 
It  is  high  time !  Do  you  remember,  Sasha, 
once  when  I  was  talking  to  you  about  him,  I 
blamed  him  for  coldness?  I  was  right,  and 
wrong  too,  then.  The  coldness  is  in  his  blood 
— that  is  not  his  fault — and  not  in  his  head. 
He  is  not  an  actor,  as  I  called  him,  nor  a  cheat, 
nor  a  scoundrel ;  he  lives  at  other  people's  ex- 
pense, not  like  a  swindler,  but  like  a  child.  .  .  . 
Yes ;  no  doubt  he  will  die  somewhere  in  poverty 
and  want ;  but  are  we  to  throw  stones  at  him 
for  that  ?  He  never  does  anything  himself 
precisely,  he  has  no  vital  force,  no  blood  ;  but 
who  has  the  right  to  say  that  he  has  not  been 
of  use  ?  that  his  words  have  not  scattered  good 
seeds  in  young  hearts,  to  whom  nature  has  not 
denied,  as  she  has  to  him,  powers  for  action, 
and  the  faculty  of  carrying  out  their  own  ideas  ? 
Indeed,  I  myself,  to  begin  with,  have  gained  all 
that  from  him.  .  .  .    Sasha  knows  what  Rudin 

220 


RUDIN 

did  for  me  in  my  youth.  I  also  maintained,  I 
recollect,  that  Rudin's  words  could  not  produce 
an  effect  on  men ;  but  I  was  speaking  then  of 
men  like  myself,  at  my  present  age,  of  men  who 
have  already  lived  and  been  broken  in  by  life. 
One  false  note  in  a  man's  eloquence,  and  the 
whole  harmony  is  spoiled  for  us;  but  a  young 
man's  ear,  happily,  is  not  so  over-fine,  not  so 
trained.  If  the  substance  of  what  he  hears 
seems  fine  to  him,  what  does  he  care  about  the 
intonation  !  The  intonation  he  will  supply  for 
himself!' 

*  Bravo,  bravo ! '  cried  BassistofF,  *  that  is  justly 
spoken !  And  as  regards  Rudin's  influence,  1 
swear  to  you,  that  man  not  only  knows  how  to 
move  you,  he  lifts  you  up,  he  does  not  let  you 
stand  still,  he  stirs  you  to  the  depths  and  sets 
you  on  fire ! ' 

'  You  hear  ? '  continued  Lezhnyov,  turning  to 
Pigasov ;  '  what  further  proof  do  you  want } 
You  attack  philosophy ;  speaking  of  it,  you 
cannot  find  words  contemptuous  enough.  I 
myself  am  not  excessively  devoted  to  it,  and  I 
know  little  enough  about  it ;  but  our  principal 
misfortunes  do  not  come  from  philosophy !   The 

221 


RUDIN 

Russian  will  never  be  infected  with  philo 
sophical  hair-splittings  and  nonsense ;  he  has 
too  much  common-sense  for  that;  but  we  must 
not  let  every  sincere  effort  after  truth  and 
knowledge  be  attacked  under  the  name  of 
philosophy.  Rudin's  misfortune  is  that  he  does 
^J  not  understand  Russia,  and  that,  certainly,  is  a 
great  misfortune.  Russia  can  do  without  every 
one  of  us,  but  not  one  of  us  can  do  without  her. 
Woe  to  him  who  thinks  he  can,  and  woe  two- 
fold to  him  who  actually  does  do  without  her ! 
Cosmopolitanism  is  all  twaddle,  the  cosmo- 
politan is  a  nonentity — worse  than  a  nonentity; 
without  nationality  is  no  art,  nor  truth,  nor 
life,  nor  anything.  You  cannot  even  have  an 
ideal  face  without  individual  expression  ;  only 
a  vulgar  face  can  be  devoid  of  it.  But  I  say 
again,  that  is  not  Rudin's  fault ;  it  is  his  fate — 
a  cruel  and  unhappy  fate — for  which  we  cannot 
blame  him.  It  would  take  us  too  far  if  we  tried 
to  trace  why  Rudins  spring  up  among  us.  But 
for  what  is  fine  in  him,  let  us  be  grateful  to 
him.  That  is  pleasanter  than  being  unfair  to 
him,  and  we  have  been  unfair  to  him.  It's 
not  our  business  to  punish  him,  and  it's  not 

222 


RUDIN 

needed ;  he  has  punished  himself  far  more 
cruelly  than  he  deserved.  And  God  grant  that 
unhappiness  may  have  blotted  out  all  the  harm 
there  was  in  him,  and  left  only  what  was  fine  ! 
I  drink  to  the  health  of  Rudin !  I  drink 
to  the  comrade  of  my  best  years,  I  drink  to 
youth,  to  its  hopes,  its  endeavours,  its  faith, 
and  its  honesty,  to  all  that  our  hearts  beat 
for  at  twenty ;  we  have  known,  and  shall 
know,  nothing  better  than  that  in  life.  ...  I 
drink  to  that  golden  time — to  the  health  of 
Rudin!' 

All  clinked  glasses  with  Lezhnyov.  Bassis- 
toff,  in  his  enthusiasm,  almost  cracked  his  glass 
and  drained  it  off  at  a  draught.  Alexandra 
Pavlovna  pressed  Lezhnyov's  hand. 

*  Why,  Mihailo  Mihailitch,  I  did  not  suspect 
you  were  an  orator,'  remarked  Pigasov ;  *  it  v/as 
equal  to  Mr.  Rudin  himself;  even  I  was  moved 
by  it.' 

'  I  am  not  at  all  an  orator,'  replied  Lezhnyov, 
not  without  annoyance,  *but  to  move  you,  I 
fancy,  would  be  difificult.  But  enough  of 
Rudin  ;  let  us  talk  of  something  else.  What 
of— what's  his  name — Pandalevsky?  is  he 
223 


RUDIN 

still  living  at   Darya  Mihailovna's  ? '   he  con- 
cluded, turning  to  Bassistoff. 

*  Oh  yes,  he  is  still  there.  She  has  managed 
to  get  him  a  very  profitable  place.* 

Lezhnyov  smiled. 

*  That's  a  man  who  won't  die  in  want,  one 
can  count  upon  that.' 

Supper  was  over.  The  guests  dispersed. 
When  she  was  left  alone  with  her  husband, 
Alexandra  Pavlovna  looked  smiling  into  his 
face. 

*  How  splendid  you  were  this  evening,  Misha,' 
she  said,  stroking  his  forehead,  *how  cleverly 
and  nobly  you  spoke !  But  confess,  you  ex- 
aggerated a  little  in  Rudin's  praise,  as  in  old 
days  you  did  in  attacking  him.' 

*  I  can't  let  them  hit  a  man  when  he's  down. 
And  in  those  days  I  was  afraid  he  was  turning 
your  head.' 

*No,'  replied  Alexandra  Pavlovna  natvely, 
*  he  always  seemed  too  learned  for  me.  I  was 
afraid  of  him,  and  never  knew  what  to  say  in 
his  presence.  But  wasn't  Pigasov  nasty  in  his 
ridicule  of  him  to-day  ? ' 

'  Pigasov  ? '  responded  Lezhnyov.  *  That 
224 


RUDIN 

was  just  why  I  stood  up  for  Rudin  so  warmly, 
because  Pigasov  was  here.  He  dare  to  call 
Rudin  a  sponge  indeed  !  Why,  I  consider  the 
part  he  plays — Pigasov  I  mean — is  a  hundred  , , 
times  worse!  He  has  an  independent  property,  / 
and  he  sneers  at  every  one,  and  yet  see  how  he 
fawns  upon  wealthy  or  distinguished  people ! 
Do  you  know  that  that  fellow,  who  abuses 
everything  and  every  one  with  such  scorn,  and 
attacks  philosophy  and  women,  do  you  know 
that  when  he  was  in  the  service,  he  took  bribes 
and  that  sort  of  thing  I  Ugh  1  That 's  what 
he  is!» 

*  Is  it  possible  ? '  cried  Alexandra  Pavlovna, 
'  I  should  never  have  expected  that !  Misha,' 
she  added,  after  a  short  pause,  *  I  want  to  ask 
you ' 

*What?' 

*What  do  you  think,  will  my  brother  be 
happy  with  Natalya  ? ' 

*  How  can  I  tell  you  ?  . .  .  there  *s  every  likeli- 
hood of  it.  She  will  take  the  lead  .  .  .  there 's 
no  reason  to  hide  the  fact  between  us  .  .  .  she  is 
cleverer  than  he  is ;  but  he 's  a  capital  fellow, 
and  loves  her  with  all  his  soul.     What  more 

225  p 


RUDIN 

would  you  have  ?    You  see  we  love  one  another 
and  are  happy,  aren't  we  ? ' 

Alexandra  Pavlovna  smiled  and  pressed  his 
hand. 

On  the  same  day  on  which  all  that  has  been 
described  took  place  in  Alexandra  Pavlovna's 
house,  in  one  of  the  remote  districts  of  Russia, 
a  wretched  little  covered  cart,  drawn  by  three 
village  horses  was  crawling  along  the  high  road 
in  the  sultry  heat.  On  the  front  seat  was 
perched  a  grizzled  peasant  in  a  ragged  cloak, 
with  his  legs  hanging  slanting  on  the  shaft ;  he 
kept  flicking  with  the  reins,  which  were  of  cord, 
and  shaking  the  whip.  Inside  the  cart  there 
was  sitting  on  a  shaky  portmanteau  a  tall  man 
in  a  cap  and  old  dusty  cloak.  It  was  Rudin. 
He  sat  with  bent  head,  the  peak  of  his  cap 
pulled  over  his  eyes.  The  jolting  of  the  cart 
threw  him  from  side  to  side ;  but  he  seemed 
utterly  unconscious,  as  though  he  were  asleep. 
At  last  he  drew  himself  up. 

'  When  are  we  coming  to  a  station  ? '  he 
inquired  of  the  peasant  sitting  in  front. 

'Just   over   the   hill,   little   father,'  said   the 

226 


RUDIN 

peasant,  with  a  still  more  violent  shaking  of  the 
reins.  '  There 's  a  mile  and  a  half  farther  to  go, 
not  more.  .  .  .  Come!  there!  look  about  you. 
.  .  .  I  '11  teach  you,'  he  added  in  a  shrill  voice, 
setting  to  work  to  whip  the  right-hand  horse. 

'You  seem  to  drive  very  badly,'  observed 
Rudin ;  *  we  have  been  crawling  along  since 
early  morning,  and  we  have  not  succeeded  in 
getting  there  yet.  You  should  have  sung 
something.* 

*  Well,  what  would  you  have,  little  father?  The 
horses,  you  see  yourself,  are  overdone, .  . .  and 
then  the  heat ;  and  I  can't  sing.  I  'm  not  a 
coachman.  .  .  .  Hullo,  you  little  sheep  I '  cried 
the  peasant,  suddenly  turning  to  a  man  coming 
along  in  a  brown  smock  and  bark  shoes  down- 
trodden at  heel.     '  Get  out  of  the  way  ! ' 

'You're  a  nice  driver!'  muttered  the  man 
after  him,  and  stood  still.  '  You  wretched  Mus- 
covite,' he  added  in  a  voice  full  of  contempt, 
shook  his  head  and  limped  away. 

'  What  are  you  up  to  ? '  sang  out  the  peasant 
at  intervals,  pulling  at  the  shaft-horse.  *Ah, 
you  devil !     Get  on  ! ' 

The  jaded  horses  dragged  themselves  at  last 
227 


RUDIN 

up  to  the  posting-station.  Rudin  crept  out  of 
the  cart,  paid  the  peasant  (who  did  not  bow 
to  him,  and  kept  shaking  the  coins  in  the  palm 
of  his  hand  a  long  while — evidently  there  was 
too  little  drink-money)  and  himself  carried  the 
portmanteau  into  the  posting-station. 

A  friend  of  mine  who  has  wandered  a  great 
deal  about  Russia  in  his  time  made  the  obser- 
vation that  if  the  pictures  hanging  on  the  walls 
of  a  posting-station  represent  scenes  from  'the 
Prisoner  of  the  Caucasus/  or  Russian  generals, 
you  may  get  horses  soon  ;  but  if  the  pictures 
depict  the  life  of  the  well-known  gambler  George 
de  Germany,  the  traveller  need  not  hope  to  get 
off  quickly ;  he  will  have  time  to  admire  to 
the  full  the  hair  a  la  cockatoo,  the  white  open 
waistcoat,  and  the  exceedingly  short  and  narrow 
trousers  of  the  gambler  in  his  youth,  and  his 
exasperated  physiognomy,  when  in  his  old  age 
he  kills  his  son,  waving  a  chair  above  him,  in  a 
cottage  with  a  narrow  staircase.  In  the  room 
into  which  Rudin  walked  precisely  these  pic- 
tures were  hanging  out  of  *  Thirty  Years,  or  the 
Life  of  a  Gambler.'  In  response  to  his  call  the 
superintendent  appeared,  who  had  just  waked 
228 


KUDIN 

up  (by  the  way,  did  any  one  ever  see  a  super- 
intendent who  had  not  just  been  asleep?), 
and  without  even  waiting  for  Rudin's  question, 
informed  him  in  a  sleepy  voice  that  there  were 
no  horses. 

*  How  can  you  say  there  are  no  horses,'  said 
Rudin,  'when  you  don't  even  know  where  I  am 
going  ?     I  came  here  with  village  horses.' 

*  We  have  no  horses  for  anywhere,'  answered 
the  superintendent.  *  But  where  are  you 
going?' 

*ToSk — : 

'We  have  no  horses/  repeated  the  superin- 
dent,  and  he  went  away. 

Rudin,  vexed,  went  up  to  the  window  and 
threw  his  cap  on  the  table.  He  was  not  much 
changed,  but  had  grown  rather  yellow  in  the 
last  two  years ;  silver  threads  shone  here  and 
there  in  his  curls,  and  his  eyes,  still  magnificent, 
seemed  somehow  dimmed,  fine  lines,  the  traces 
of  bitter  and  disquieting  emotions,  lay  about  his 
lips  and  on  his  temples.  His  clothes  were 
shabby  and  old,  and  he  had  no  linen  visible 
anywhere.  His  best  days  were  clearly  over : 
as  the  gardeners  say,  he  had  gone  to  seed. 
229 


RUDIN 

He  began  reading  the  inscriptions  on  the 
walls — the  ordinary  distraction  of  weary  travel- 
lers ;  suddenly  the  door  creaked  and  the  super- 
intendent came  in. 

*  There  are  no  horses  for  Sk ,  and  there 

won't  be  any  for  a  long  time/  he  said,  *  but  here 
are  some  ready  to  go  to  V / 

To  V ? '  said  Rudin.     *  Why,  that 's  not 

on  my  road  at  all.     I  am  going  to  Penza,  and 
V lies,  I  think,  in  the  direction  of  Tambofif.' 

*  What  of  that  ?  you  can  get  there  from  Tam- 

boff,  and  from  V you  won't  be  at  all  out  of 

your  road/ 

Rudin  thought  a  moment. 

*  Well,  all  right;  he  said  at  last,  *  tell  them  to 
put  the  horses  to.  It  is  the  same  to  me  ;  I  will 
go  to  Tambofif.' 

The  horses  were  soon  ready.  Rudin  carried 
his  own  portmanteau,  climbed  into  the  cart, 
and  took  his  seat,  his  head  hanging  as  before. 
There  was  something  helpless  and  pathetically 
submissive  in  his  bent  figure. . , .  And  the  three 
horses  went  off  at  a  slow  trot 


230 


EPILOGUE 

Some  years  had  passed  by. 

It  was  a  cold  autumn   day.      A  travelling 
carriage  drew  up  at  the  steps  of  the  principal 

hotel  of  the  government   town   of  С ;    a 

gentleman  yawning  and  stretching  stepped  out 
of  it.  He  was  not  elderly,  but  had  had  time 
to  acquire  that  fulness  of  figure  which  habitu- 
ally commands  respect.  He  went  up  the  stair- 
case to  the  second  story,  and  stopped  at  the 
entrance  to  a  Avide  corridor.  Seeing  no  one 
before  him  he  called  out  in  a  loud  voice  ask- 
ing for  a  room.  A  door  creaked  somewhere, 
and  a  long  waiter  jumped  up  from  behind  a  low 
screen,  and  came  forward  with  a  quick  flank 
movement,  an  apparition  of  a  glossy  back  and 
tucked-up  sleeves  in  the  half-dark  corridor. 
The  traveller  went  into  the  room  and  at  once 
throwing  off  his  cloak  and  scarf,  sat  down  on 
231 


RUDIN 

the  sofa,  and  with  his  fists  propped  on  his 
knees,  he  first  looked  round  as  though  he 
were  hardly  awake  yet,  and  then  gave  the  order 
to  send  up  his  servant.  The  hotel  waiter  made 
a  bow  and  disappeared.  The  traveller  was  no 
other  than  Lezhnyov.     He  had  come  from  the 

country    to    С about  some   conscription 

business. 

Lezhnyov's  servant,  a  curly-headed,  rosy- 
cheeked  youth  in  a  grey  cloak,  with  a  blue 
sash  round  the  waist,  and  soft  felt  shoes,  came 
into  the  room. 

*  Well,  my  boy,  here  we  are,*  Lezhnyov  said, 
'  and  you  were  afraid  all  the  while  that  a  wheel 
would  come  off.' 

*  We  are  here/  replied  the  boy,  trying  to 
smile  above  the  high  collar  of  his  cloak,  *  but 
the  reason  why  the  wheel  did  not  come 
off ' 

*  Is  there  no  one  in  here  ? '  sounded  a  voice  in 
the  corridor. 

Lezhnyov  started  and  listened. 
'  Eh  ?  who  is  there  ? '  repeated  the  voice. 
Lezhnyov  got  up,  walked  to  the  door,  and 
quickly  threw  it  open. 

232 


RUDIN 

Before  him  stood  a  tall  man,  bent  and  almost 
completely  grey,  in  an  old  frieze  coat  with 
bronze  buttons. 

*  Rudin  ! '  he  cried  in  an  excited  voice. 

Rudin  turned  round.  He  could  not  distin- 
guish Lezhnyov's  features,  as  he  stood  with 
his  back  to  the  light,  and  he  looked  at  him 
in  bewilderment. 

*  You  don't  know  me  ? '  said  Lezhnyov. 

'  Mihailo  Mihailitch ! '  cried  Rudin,  and 
held  out  his  hand,  but  drew  it  back  again  in 
confusion.  Lezhnyov  made  haste  to  snatch  it 
in  both  of  his. 

*  Come,  come  in  ! '  he  said  to  Rudin,  and 
drew  him  into  the  room. 

'  How  you  have  changed  ! '  exclaimed  Lezh- 
nyov after  a  brief  silence,  involuntarily  drop- 
ping his  voice. 

*  Yes,  they  say  so  ! '  replied  Rudin,  his  eyes 
straying  about  the  room.  *The  years  .  .  . 
and  you  not  much.  How  is  Alexandra — your 
wife?' 

*  She  is  very  well,  thank  you.  But  what  fate 
brought  you  here  ? ' 

*  It  is  too  long  a  story.     Strictly  speaking,  I 

233 


RUDIN 

came  here  by  chance.      I   was   looking  for  a 
friend.     But  I  am  very  glad  .  .  ,' 
'  Where  are  you  going  to  dine  }  * 

*  Oh,  I  don't  know.  At  some  restaurant.  I 
must  go  away  from  here  to-day.* 

'  You  must.' 

Rudin  smiled  significantly. 

*  Yes,  I  must.  They  are  sending  me  off  to 
my  own  place,  to  my  home/ 

'  Dine  with  me/ 

Rudin  for  the  first  time  looked  Lezhnyov 
straight  in  the  face. 

'  You  invite  me  to  dine  with  you  ? '  he  said. 

'  Yes,  Rudin,  for  the  sake  of  old  times  and 
old  comradeship.  Will  you  }  I  did  not  expect 
to  meet  you,  and  God  only  knows  when  we 
shall  see  each  other  again.  I  cannot  part  from 
you  like  this  ! ' 

*  Very  well,  I  agree  !  * 

Lezhnyov  pressed  Rudin's  hand,  and  calling 
his  servant,  ordered  dinner,  and  told  him  to 
have  a  bottle  of  champagne  put  in  ice. 

In    the    course    of    dinner,    Lezhnyov    and 

Rudin,  as  though  by  agreement,  kept  talking  of 

their  student  days,  recalling  many  things  and 
234 


RUDIN 


many    friends— dead    and     living.       At    first 
Rudin  spoke  with  little  interest,  but  when  he 
had  drunk  a  few  glasses  of  wine  his  blood  grew 
warmer.     At  last  the  waiter  took  away  the  last 
dish,  Lezhnyov  got  up,  closed  the  door,  and 
coming  back  to   the   table,   sat  down   facing 
Rudin,  and  quietly  rested  his  chin  on  his  hands. 
*Now,  then,'  he  began,  'tell  me  all  that  has 
happened  to  you  since  I  saw  you  last' 
Rudin  looked  at  Lezhnyov. 
*Good  God!'    thought  Lezhnyov,  'how  he 
has  changed,  poor  fellow ! ' 

Rudin's  features  had  undergone  little  change 

since  we  saw  him  last  at  the  posting-station, 

though  approaching  old  age  had  had  time  to 

set  its  mark  upon  them  ;  but  their  expression 

had  become  different.     His  eyes  had  a  changed 

look ;  his  whole  being,  his  movements,  which 

were  at  one  time  slow,  at  another  abrupt  and 

disconnected,  his  crushed,  benumbed  manner 

of  speaking,  all  showed  an  utter  exhaustion,  a 

quiet  and  secret  dejection,  very  different  from 

the   half-assumed    melancholy   which   he    had 

affected  once,  as  it   is   generally   affected   by 

youth,  when  full  of  hopes  and  confident  vanity. 

235 


RUDIN 


Tell  you  all  that  has  happened  to  me  ?'  he 
said  ;  *  I  could  not  tell  you  all,  and  it  is  not 
worth  while.  I  am  worn  out ;  I  have  wandered 
far— in  spirit  as  well  as  in  flesh.  What  friends 
I  have  made — good  God  !  How  many  things, 
how  many  men  I  have  lost  faith  in  !  Yes,  how 
many!'  repeated  Rudin,  noticing  that  Lezhnyov 
was  looking  in  his  face  with  a  kind  of  special 
sympathy.  *  How  many  times  have  my  own 
words  grown  hateful  to  mel  I  don't  mean 
now  on  my  own  lips,  but  on  the  lips  of  those 
who  had  adopted  my  opinions  !  How  many 
times  have  I  passed  from  the  petulance  of  a 
child  to  the  dull  insensibility  of  a  horse  who 
does  not  lash  his  tail  when  the  whip  cuts  him ! 
.  .  .  How  many  times  I  have  been  happy  and 
hopeful,  and  have  made  enemies  and  humbled 
myself  for  nothing  !  How  many  times  I  have 
taken  flight  like  an  eagle — and  returned  crawling 
like  a  snail  whose  shell  has  been  crushed !  .  .  . 
Where  have  I  not  been  !  What  roads  have  I 
not  travelled  !  .  .  .  And  the  roads  are  often 
dirty,'  added  Rudin,  slightly  turning  away. 
*  You  know  .  .  .'  he  was  continuing.  .  .  , 
'Listen,'  interrupted  Lezhnyov.  'We  used 
236 


RUDIN 

once  to  say  "  Dmitri  and  Mihail "  to  one 
another.  Let  us  revive  the  old  habit,  .  .  .  will 
you  ?     Let  us  drink  to  those  days  ! ' 

Rudin  started  and  drew  himself  up  a  little, 
and  there  was  a  gleam  in  his  eyes  of  something 
no  word  can  express. 

*  Let  us  drink  to  them/  he  said.  *  I  thank 
you,  brother,  we  will  drink  to  them  ! ' 

Lezhnyov  and  Rudin  drained  their  glasses, 

*You  know,  Mihail,'  Rudin  began  again 
with  a  smile  and  a  stress  on  the  name, '  there 
is  a  worm  in  me  which  gnaws  and  worries  me 
and  never  lets  me  be  at  peace  till  the  end.  It 
brings  me  into  collision  with  people, — at  first 
they  fall  under  my  influence,  but  afterwards  . , .' 

Rudin  waved  his  hand  in  the  air. 

'Since  I  parted  from  you,  Mihail,  I  have 
seen  much,  have  experienced  many  changes. .  .  . 
I  have  begun  life,  have  started  on  something 
new  twenty  times — and  here — you  see  ! ' 

*  You  had  no  stability,'  said  Lezhnyov,  as 
though  to  himself. 

*As  you  say,  I    had   no   stability.     I   never 
was  able  to  construct  anything  ;  and  it's  a  diffi- 
cult thing,  brother,  to  construct  when  one  has  to 
237 


RUDIN 

create  the  very  ground  under  one's  feet,  to 
make  one's  own  foundation  for  one's  self !  All 
my  adventures — that  is,  speaking  accurately, 
all  my  failures,  I  will  not  describe.  I  will 
tell  of  two  or  three  incidents — those  incidents 
of  my  life  when  it  seemed  as  if  success  were 
smiling  on  me,  or  rather  when  I  began  to  hope 
for  success — which  is  not  altogether  the  same 
thing  .  .  .' 

Rudin  pushed  back  his  grey  and  already 
sparse  locks  with  the  same  gesture  which  he 
used  once  to  toss  back  his  thick,  dark  curls. 

*  Well,  I  will  tell  you,  Mihail,'  he  began.  ^  In 
Moscow  I  came  across  a  rather  strange  man. 
He  was  very  wealthy  and  was  the  owner  оЛЙс- 
tensive  estates.  His  chief  and  only  passion  was 
love  of  science,  universal  science.  I  have  never 
yet  been  able  to  arrive  at  how  this  passion  arose 
in  him  !  It  fitted  him  about  as  well  as  a  saddle 
on  a  cow.  He  managed  with  difficulty  to 
maintain  himself  at  his  mental  elevation,  he 
was  almost  without  the  power  of  speech,  he 
only  rolled  his  eyes  with  expression  and  shook 
his  head  significantly.  I  never  met,  brother,  a 
poorer  and  less  gifted  nature  than  his.  ...  In 
238 


RUDIN 

the  Smolensk  province  there  are  places  like 
that — nothing  but  sand  and  a  few  tufts  of  grass 
which  no  animal  can  eat.  Nothing  succeeded 
in  his  hands  ;  everything  seemed  to  slip  away 
from  him  ;  but  he  was  still  mad  on  making 
everything  plain  complicated.  If  it  had  de- 
pended on  his  arrangements,  his  people  would 
have  eaten  standing  on  their  heads.  He 
worked,  and  wrote,  and  read  indefatigably.  He 
devoted  himself  to  science  with  a  kind  of 
stubborn  perseverance,  a  terrible  patience  ;  his 
vanity  was  immense,  and  he  had  a  will  of  iron. 
He  lived  alone,  and  had  the  reputation  of  an 
eccentric.  I  made  friends  with  him  . .  .  and  he 
Jlked  me.  I  quickly,  I  must  own,  saw  through 
him  ;  but  his  zeal  attracted  me.  Besides,  he 
was  the  master  of  such  resources  ;  so  much 
good  might  be  done,  so  much  real  usefulness 
through  him.  ...  I  was  installed  in  his  house 
and  went  with  him  to  the  country.  My  plans, 
brother,  were  on  a  vast  scale;  I  dreamed  of 
various  reforms,  innovations  .  . .' 

'  Just  as  at  the  Lasunsky's,  do  you  remem- 
ber, Dmitri  ? '  responded  Lezhnyov,  with  an 
indulgent  smile. 

239 


RUDIN 

*Ah,  but  then  I  knew  in  my  heart  that 
nothing  would  come  of  my  words;  but  this 
time  ...  an  altogether  different  field  of  activity 
lay  open  before  me.  ...  I  took  with  me  books  on 
agriculture  ...  to  tell  the  truth,  I  did  not  read 
one  of  them  through.  .  . .  Well,  I  set  to  work.  At 
first  it  did  not  progress  as  I  had  expected ;  but 
afterwards  it  did  get  on  in  a  way.  My  new 
friend  looked  on  and  said  nothing  ;  he  did  not 
interfere  with  me,  at  least  not  to  any  notice- 
able extent.  He  accepted  my  suggestions,  and 
carried  them  out,  but  with  a  stubborn  sullen- 
ness,  a  secret  want  of  faith  ;  and  he  bent  every- 
thing his  own  way.  He  prized  extremely  every 
idea  of  his  own.  He  got  to  it  with  difficulty, 
like  a  ladybird  on  a  blade  of  grass,  and  he 
would  sit  and  sit  upon  it,  as  though  pluming 
his  wings  and  getting  ready  for  a  flight,  and 
suddenly  he  would  fall  off  and  begin  crawling 
again.  .  ,  .  Don't  be  surprised  at  these  com- 
parisons ;  at  that  time  they  were  always  crowd- 
ing on  my  imagination.  So  I  struggled  on  there 
for  two  years.  The  work  did  not  progress  much 
in  spite  of  all  my  efforts.  I  began  to  be  tired 
of  it,  my  friend  bored  me ;  I  had  come  to 
240 


RUDIN 

sneer  at  him,  and  he  stifled  me  h*ke  a  feather- 
bed ;  his  want  of  faith  had  changed  into  a 
dumb  resentment ;  a  feehng  of  hostility  had 
laid  hold  of  both  of  us  ;  we  could  scarcely 
now  speak  of  anything  ;  he  quietly  but  in- 
cessantly tried  to  show  me  that  he  was  not 
under  my  influence ;  my  arrangements  were 
either  set  aside  or  altogether  transformed. 
I  realised,  at  last,  that  I  was  playing  the  part 
of  a  toady  in  the  noble  landowner's  house  by 
providing  him  with  intellectuz.l  amusement.  It 
was  very  bitter  to  me  to  have  wasted  my  time 
and  strength  for  nothing,  most  bitter  to  feel  that 
I  had  again  and  again  been  deceived  in  my  ex- 
pectations. I  knew  very  well  what  I  was 
losing  if  I  went  away ;  but  I  could  not  con- 
trol myself,  and  one  day  after  a  painful  and 
revolting  scene  of  which  I  was  a  witness, 
and  which  showed  my  friend  in  a  most  dis- 
advantageous light,  I  quarrelled  with  him 
finally,  went  away,  and  threw  up  this  new- 
fangled pedant,  made  of  a  queer  compound 
of  our  native  flour  kneaded  up  with  German 
treacle/ 

*  That   is,  you   threw  up  your  daily  bread, 

241  Q 


RUDIN 

Dmitri/  said  Lezhnyov,  laying  both  hands  on 
Rudin's  shoulders. 

*  Yes,  and  again  I  was  turned  adrift,  empty- 
handed  and  penniless,  to  fly  whither  I  listed. 
Ah!  let  us  drink!' 

*  To  your  health  ! '  said  Lezhnyov,  getting  up 
and  kissing  Rudin  on  the  forehead.  '  To  your 
health  and  to  the  memory  of  Pokorsky.  He, 
too,  knew  how  to  be  poor.' 

*  Well,  that  was  number  one  of  my  adven- 
tures,-.began  Hudin,  after  a  short  pause.  *  Shall 
I  go  on  .? ' 

*  Go  on,  please,' 

*  Ah  !  I  have  no  wish  for  talking.  I  am  tired 
of  talking,  brother.  .  ,  ,  However,  so  be  it. 
After  knocking  about  in  various  parts — by 
the  way,  I  might  tell  you  how  I  became  the 
secretary  of  a  benevolent  dignitary,  and  what 
came  of  that ;  but  that  would  take  me  too 
long.  .  .  .  After  knocking  about  in  various 
parts,  I  resolved  to  become  at  last — don't  smile, 
please — a  practical  business  man.  The  oppor- 
tunity came  in  this  way.  I  became  friendly 
with — he  was  much  talked  of  at  one  time — a 
man  called  Kurbyev.' 

242 


RUDIN 

*  Oh,  I  never  heard  of  him.  But,  really, 
Dmitri,  with  your  intelligence,  how  was  it  you 
did  not  suspect  that  to  be  a  business  man 
was  not  the  business  for  you  ?  * 

*  I  know,  brother,  that  it  was  not ;  but,  then, 
what  is  the  business  for  me  ?  But  if  you  had 
seen  Kurbyev  !  Do  not,  pray,  fancy  him  as 
some  empty-headed  chatterer.  They  say  I 
was  eloquent  once.  I  was  simply  nothing 
beside  him.  He  was  a  man  of  wonderful 
learning  and  knowledge, — an  intellect,  brother, 
a  creative  intellect,  for  business  and  commer- 
cial enterprises.  His  brain  seemed  seething 
with  the  boldest,  the  most  unexpected  schemes. 
I  joined  him  and  we  decided  to  turn  our  powers 
to  a  work  of  public  utility.' 

'  What  was  it,  may  I  know  ?  * 
Rudin  dropped  his  eyes. 

*  You  will  laugh  at  it,  Mihail. 

'  Why  should  I  ?     No,  I  will  not  laugh.* 

*  We  resolved  to  make  a  river  in  the  К 

province  fit  for  navigation,'  said  Rudin  with  an 
embarrassed  smile. 

'Really !  This  Kurbyev  was  a  capitalist, 
then?' 

243 


RUDIN 

*  He  was  poorer  than  I/  responded  Rudin, 
and  his  grey  head  sank  on  his  breast. 

Lezhnyov  began  to  laugh,  but  he  stopped 
suddenly  and  took  Rudin  by  the  hand. 

*  Pardon  me,  brother,  I  beg,'  he  said,  *  but  I 
did  not  expect  that.  Well,  so  I  suppose  your 
enterprise  did  not  get  further  than  paper  ? ' 

'  Not  so.  A  beginning  was  made.  We  hired 
workmen,  and  set  to  work.  But  then  we  were 
met  by  various  obstacles.  In  the  first  place  the 
millowners  would  not  meet  us  favourably  at  all ; 
and  more  than  that,  we  could  not  turn  the  water 
out  of  its  course  without  machinery,  and  we 
had  not  money  enough  for  machinery.  For  six 
months  we  lived  in  mud  huts.  Kurbyev  lived 
on  dry  bread,  and  I,  too,  had  not  much  to  eat. 
However,  I  don't  complain  of  that ;  the  scenery 
there  is  something  magnificent.  We  struggled 
and  struggled  on,  appealing  to  merchants, 
writing  letters  and  circulars.  It  ended  in  my 
spending  my  last  farthing  on  the  project/ 

'  Well ! '  observed  Lezhnyov,  *  I  imagine  to 
spend  your  last  farthing,  Dmitri,  was  not  a 
difficult  matter  ? ' 

*  It  was  not  difficult,  certainly/ 

244 


RUDIN 

Rudin  looked  out  of  the  window. 

'  But  the  project  really  was  not  a  bad  one, 
and  it  might  have  been  of  immense  service.' 

'  And  where  did  Kurbyev  go  to  ? '  asked 
Lezhnyov. 

*  Oh,  he  is  now  in  Siberia,  he  has  become  a 
gold-digger.  And  you  will  see  he  will  make 
himself  a  position  ;  he  will  get  on.' 

*  Perhaps ;  but  then  you  will  not  be  likely 
to  make  a  position  for  yourself,  it  seems.' 

*  Well,  that  can't  be  helped  !  But  I  know  I 
was  always  a  frivolous  creature  in  your  eyes.' 

*  Hush,  brother  ;  there  was  a  time,  certainly, 
when  I  saw  your  weak  side ;  but  now,  believe 
me,  I  have  learnt  to  value  you.  You  will  not 
make  yourself  a  position.  And  I  love  you, 
Dmitri,  for  that,  indeed  I  do  1  * 

Rudin  smiled  faintly. 

*  Truly  ? ' 

'  I  respect  you  for  it ! '   repeated  Lezhnyov. 
'  Do  you  understand  me  ^ ' 
Both  were  silent  for  a  little. 

*  Well,  shall  I  proceed  to  number  three  .-* 
asked  Rudin. 

'  Please  do.' 

245 


RUDIN 

*  Very  well.  The  third  and  last.  I  have  only 
now  got  clear  of  nuhiber  three.  But  am  I  not 
boring  you,  Mihail  ? ' 

*  Go  on,  go  on.' 

*  Well/  began  Rudin,  *  once  the  idea  occurred 
to  me  at  some  leisure  moment — I  always  had 
plenty  of  leisure  moments — the  idea  occurred  to 
me ;  I  have  knowledge  enough,  my  intentions 
are  good.  I  suppose  even  you  will  not  deny 
me  good  intentions  ?  * 

Ч  should  think  not!* 

*  In  all  other  directions  I  had  failed  more  or 
less  .  .  .  why  should  I  not  become  an  in- 
structor, or  speaking  simply  a  teacher  .  .  . 
rather  than  waste  my  life  ? ' 

Rudin  stopped  and  sighed. 

*  Rather  than  waste  my  life,  would  it  not  be 
better  to  try  to  pass  on  to  others  what  I  know ; 
perhaps  they  may  extract  at  least  some  use 
from  my  knowledge.  My  abilities  are  above 
the  ordinary  anyway,  I  am  a  master  of  lan- 
guage. So  I  resolved  to  devote  myself  to  this 
new  work.  I  had  difficulty  in  obtaining  a  post ; 
I  did  not  want  to  give  private  lessons ;  there 
was  nothing  I  could  do  in  the  lower  schools. 

246 


RUDIN 

At  last  I  succeeded  in  getting  an  appointment 
as  professor  in  the  gymnasium  here.' 

*  As  professor  of  what  ? '  asked  Lezhnyov. 
'Professor   of  literature.      I    can  tell  you  I 

never  started  on  any  work  with  such  zest  as  I 
did  on  this.  The  thought  of  producing  an  effect 
upon  the  young  inspired  me.  I  spent  three  weeks 
over  the  composition  of  my  opening  lecture.' 

*  Have    you    got    it,    Dmitri  ? '    interrupted 
Lezhnyov. 

'  No !  I  lost  it  somewhere.  It  went  off  fairly 
well,  and  was  liked.  I  can  see  now  the  faces 
of  my  listeners — good  young  faces,  with  an 
expression  of  pure-souled  attention  and  sym- 
pathy, and  even  of  amazement.  I  mounted  the 
platform  and  read  my  lecture  in  a  fever ;  I 
thought  it  would  fill  more  than  an  hour,  but  I 
had  finished  it  in  twenty  minutes.  The  in- 
spector was  sitting  there — a  dry  old  man  in 
silver  spectacles  and  a  short  wig — he  sometimes 
turned  his  head  in  my  direction.  When  I  had 
finished,  he  jumped  up  from  his  seat  and  said 
to  me,  "Good,  but  rather  over  their  heads, 
obscure,  and  too  little  said  about  the  subject" 
But  the  pupils  followed  me  with  appreciation  in 
247 


RUDIN 

their  looks — indeed  they  did.  Ah,  that  is  how 
youth  is  so  precious  !  I  gave  a  second  written 
lecture,  and  a  third.  After  that  I  began  to 
lecture  extempore/ 

'  And  you  had  success  ? '  asked  Lezhnyov. 

*  I  had  a  great  success.  I  gave  my  audience 
all  that  was  in  my  soul.  Among  them  were 
two  or  three  really  remarkable  boys  ;  the  rest 
did  not  understand  me  much.  I  must  confess 
though  that  even  those  who  did  understand  me 
sometimes  embarrassed  me  by  their  questions. 
But  I  did  not  lose  heart.  They  all  loved  me  ; 
I  gave  them  all  full  marks  in  examinations. 
But  then  an  intrigue  was  started  against  me — 
or  no !  it  was  not  an  intrigue  at  all ;  it  simply 
was,  that  I  was  not  in  my  proper  place.  I  was 
a  hindrance  to  the  others,  and  they  were  a 
hindrance  to  me.  I  lectured  to  the  gymnasium 
pupils  in  a  way  lectures  are  not  given  every 
day,  even  to  students  ;  they  carried  away  very 
little  from  my  lectures.  ...  I  myself  did  not 
know  the  facts  enough.  Besides,  I  was  not 
satisfied  with  the  limited  sphere  assigned  to 
me— you  know  that  is  always  my  weakness. 
I  wanted  radical  reforms,  and  I  swear  to  you 
248 


RUDIN 

that  these  reforms  were  both  sensible  and  easy 
to  carry  out.  I  hoped  to  carry  them  through 
the  director,  a  good  and  honest  man,  over 
whom  I  had  at  first  some  influence.  His  wife 
aided  me.  I  have  not,  brother,  met  many 
women  hke  her  in  my  life.  She  was  about 
forty ;  but  she  believed  in  goodness,  and  loved 
everything  fine  with  the  enthusiasm  of  a  girl 
of  fifteen,  and  was  not  afraid  to  give  utterance 
to  her  convictions  before  any  one  whatever.  I 
shall  never  forget  her  generous  enthusiasm  and 
goodness.  By  her  advice  I  drew  up  a  plan. 
.  .  .  But  then  my  influence  was  undermined, 
I  was  misrepresented  to  her.  My  chief  enemy 
was  the  professor  of  mathematics,  a  little  sour, 
bilious  man  who  believed  in  nothing,  a  character 
like  Pigasov,  but  far  more  able  than  he  was. . .  . 
By  the  way,  how  is  Pigasov,  is  he  living  } ' 

'  Oh,  yes  ;  and  only  fancy,  he  is  married  to  a 
peasant  woman,  who,  they  say,  beats  him.' 

'  Serve  him  right  1     And  Natalya  Alexyevna 
— is  she  well  ?  * 

*Yes.' 

*  Is  she  happy?' 

'Yes.' 

S49 


RUDIN 

Rudin  was  silent  for  a  little. 

*What  was  I  talking  about?  .  .  .  Oh  yes! 
about  the  professor  of  mathematics.  He  per- 
fectly hated  me ;  he  compared  my  lectures  to 
fireworks,  pounced  upon  every  expression  of 
mine  that  was  not  altogether  clear,  once  even 
put  me  to  confusion  over  some  monument  of 
the  sixteenth  century.  .  .  .  But  the  most  im- 
portant thing  was,  he  suspected  my  intentions  ; 
my  last  soap-bubble  struck  on  him  as  on  a 
spike,  and  burst.  The  inspector,  whom  I  had 
not  got  on  with  from  the  first,  set  the  director 
against  me.  A  scene  followed.  I  was  not  ready 
to  give  in  ;  I  got  hot ;  the  matter  came  to  the 
knowledge  of  the  authorities ;  I  was  forced  to 
resign.  I  did  not  stop  there  ;  I  wanted  to  prove 
that  they  could  not  treat  me  like  that.  .  .  .  But 
they  could  treat  me  as  they  liked,  .  .  .  Now  I 
am  forced  to  leave  the  town.' 

A  silence  followed.     Both  the  friends  sat  with 
bowed  heads. 

Rudin  was  the  first  to  speak. 

*  Yes,   brother,'   he   began,  '  I  can  say   now, 
in  the  words  of  Koltsov,  "Thou  hast  led  me 
astray,  my  youth,  till  there  is  nowhere  I  can 
250 


RUDIN 

turn  my  steps."  .  .  ,  And  yet  can  it  be  that  I 

was  fit  for  nothing,  that  for  me  there  was,  as  it 
were,  no  work  on  earth  to  do?  I  have  often 
put  myself  this  question,  and,  however  much 
I  tried  to  humble  myself  in  my  own  eyes,  I 
could  not  but  feel  the  existence  of  faculties 
within  me  which  are  not  given  to  every  one ! 
Why  have  these  faculties  remained  fruitless? 
And  let  me  say  more ;  you  know,  when  I  was 
with  you  abroad,  Mihail,  I  was  conceited  and 
full  of  erroneous  ideas.  .  ,  .  Certainly  I  did 
not  then  realise  clearly  what  I  wanted  ;  I  lived 
upon  words,  and  believed  in  phantoms.  But 
now,  I  swear  to  you,  I  could  speak  out  before 
all  men  every  desire  I  feel.  I  have  absolutely 
nothing  to  hide ;  I  am  absolutely,  in  the  fullest 
meaning  of  the  word,  a  well-intentioned  man, 
I  am  humble,  I  am  ready  to  adapt  myself  to 
circumstances ;  I  want  little  ;  I  want  to  do  the 
good  that  lies  nearest,  to  be  even  a  little  use. 
But  no !  I  never  succeed.  What  does  it  mean  ? 
What  hinders  me  from  living  and  working  like 
others .?  .  .  .  I  am  only  dreaming  of  it  now. 
But  no  sooner  do  I  get  into  any  definite 
position  when  fate  throws  the  dice  from  me. 
251 


RUDIN 

I  have  come  to  dread  it — my  destiny.  .  .  .  Why 
is  it  so  ?     Explain  this  enigma  to  me  I* 

'  An  enigma  ! '  repeated  Lezhnyov.  *  Yes, 
that 's  true ;  you  have  always  been  an  enigma 
for  me.  Even  in  our  young  days,  when,  after 
some  trifling  prank,  you  would  suddenly 
speak  as  though  you  were  pierced  to  the  heart, 
and  then  you  would  begin  again  .  .  .  well 
you  know  what  I  mean  .  .  .  even  then  I 
did  not  understand.  That  is  why  I  grew  apart 
from  you.  .  .  .  You  have  so  much  power,  such 
unwearvinp-  strivinp-  after  the  ideal.' 

*  Words,  all  words  I  There  was  nothing  done !' 
Rudin  broke  in. 

*  Nothing  done !     What  is  there  to  do  ? ' 

*  What  is  there  to  do !  To  keep  an  old  blind 
woman  and  all  her  family  by  one's  work,  as, 
do  you  remember,  Mihail,  Pryazhentsov  did. 

.  .  That 's  doing  something.' 
'Yes,  but  a  good  word — is  also  something 
done.* 

Rudin  looked  at  Lezhnyov  without  speaking 
and  faintly  shook  his  head. 

Lezhnyov    wanted    to    say   something,  and 
he  passed  his  hand  over  his  face. 
252 


RUDIN 

*  And  so  you  are  going  to  your  country 
place  ? '  he  asked  at  last 

*  Yes.' 

*  There  you  have  some  property  left  ?' 

*  Something  is  left  me  there.  Two  souls  and 
a  half  It  is  a  corner  to  die  in.  You  are 
thinking  perhaps  at  this  moment :  "  Even  now 
he  cannot  do  without  fine  words ! "  Words 
1пЯёеЗ  have  been  mj;M4ijnj^  Uiey  have  consumed 
me,  and  to  the  end  I  cannot  be  free  of  them. 
But  what  I  have  said  was  not  mere  words. 
These  white  hairs,  brother,  these  wrinkles,  these 
ragged  elbows — they  are  not  mere  words.  You 
have  always  been  hard  on  me,  Mihail,  and  you 
were  right ;  but  now  is  not  a  time  to  be  hard, 
when  all  is  over,  when  there  's  no  oil  left  in  the 
lamp,  and  the  lamp  itself  is  broken,  and  the 
wick  is  just  smouldering  out  Death,  brother, 
should  reconcile  at  last' . . « 

Lezhnyov  jumped  up. 

*  Rudin!'  he  cried,  'why  do  you  speak  like  that 
to  me  ?  How  have  I  deserved  it  from  you  ? 
Am  I  such  a  judge,  and  what  kind  of  a  man 
should  I  be,  if  at  the  sight  of  your  hollow  cheeks 
and  wrinkles,  "  mere  words  "  could  occur  to  my 

253 


RUDIN 

mind  ?  Do  you  want  to  know  what  I  think  of 
you,  Dmitri  ?  Well !  I  think :  here  is  a  man 
— with  his  abilities,  what  might  he  not  have 
attained  to,  what  worldly  advantages  might  he 
not  have  possessed  by  now,  if  he  had  liked  !  . .  . 
and  I  meet  him  hungry  and  homeless.  .  .  .' 

*  I  rouse  your  compassion,'  Rudin  murmured 
in  a  choked  voice. 

*  No,  you  are  wrong.  You  inspire  respect 
in  me — that  is  what  I  feel.  Who  prevented  you 
from  spending  year  after  year  at  that  land- 
owner's, who  was  your  friend,  and  who  would,  I 
am  fully  persuaded,  have  made  provision  for 
you,  if  you  had  only  been  willing  to  humour 
him?  Why  could  you  not  live  harmoniously 
at  the  gymnasium,  why  have  you — strange  man ! 
— with  whatever  ideas  you  have  entered  upon 
an  undertaking,  infallibly  every  time  ended  by 
sacrificing  your  personal  interests,  ever  refusing 
to  take  root  in  any  but  good  ground,  however 
profitable  it  might  be  ? ' 

'  I  was  born  a  rolling  stone,*  Rudin  said,  with 
a  weary  smile.     *  I  cannot  stop  myself.' 

*  That  is  true  ;  but  you  cannot  stop,  not 
because  there  is  a  worm  gnawing  you,  as  you 

2S4 


RUDIN 

said  to  me  at  first.  ...  It  is  not  a  worm,  not 
the  spirit  of  idle  restlessness — it  is  the  fire  of  j 
the  love  of  truth  that  burns  in  you,  and  clearly,  i 
in  spite  of  your  failings  ;  it  burns  in  you  more 
hotly  than  in  many  who  do  not  consider  them- 
selves egoists  and  dare  to  call  you  a  humbug 
perhaps.  I,  for  one,  in  your  place  should 
long  ago  have  succeeded  in  silencing  that 
worm  in  me,  and  should  have  given  in  to 
everything ;  and  you  have  not  even  been  em- 
bittered by  it,  Dmitri.  You  are  ready,  I  am  sure, 
to-day,  to  set  to  some  new  work  again  like  a 
boy.' 

'  No,  brother,  I   am  tired  now,'  said  Rudin. 
*  I  have  had  enough.' 

*  Tired  !  Any  other  man  would  have  been 
dead  long  ago.  You  say  that  death  recon- 
ciles ;  but  does  not  life,  don't  you  think,  recon- 
cile ?  A  man  who  has  lived  and  has  not  grown 
tolerant  towards  others  does  not  deserve  to 
meet  with  tolerance  himself.  And  who  can 
say  he  does  not  need  tolerance  ?  You  have 
done  what  you  could,  Dmitri  .  .  .  you  have 
struggled  so  long  as  you  could  .  .  .  what  more  ^ 
Our  paths  lay  apart.  .  .  ' 
255 


RUDIN 

*  You  were  utterly  different  from  me/  Rudin 
put  in  with  a  sigh. 

*  Our  paths  lay  apart/  continued  Lezhnyov, 
'  perhaps  exactly  because,  thanks  to  my  posi- 
tion, my  cool  blood,  and  other  fortunate  cir- 
cumstances, nothing  hindered  me  from  being  a 
stay-at-home,  and  remaining  a  spectator  with 
folded  hands  ;  but  you  had  to  go  out  into 
the  world,  to  turn  up  your  shirt-sleeves,  to  toil 
and  labour.  Our  paths  lay  apart — but  see  how 
near  one  another  we  are.  We  speak  almost  the 
same  language,  with  half  a  hint  we  understand 
one  another,  we  grew  up  on  the  same  ideas. 
There  is  little  left  us  now,  brother  ;  we  are  the 
last  of  the  Mohicans  !  We  might  differ  and 
even  quarrel  in  old  days,  when  so  much  life 
still  remained  before  us  ;  but  now,  when  the 
ranks  are  thinned  about  us,  when  the  younger 
generation  is  coming  upon  us  with  other  aims 
than  ours,  we  ought  to  keep  close  to  one 
another  !  Let  us  clink  glasses,  Dmitri,  and 
sing  as  of  old,  Gaudeamus  igitur  !  * 

The  friends  clinked  their  glasses,  and  sang 
the  old  student  song  in  strained  voices,  all  out 
of  tune,  in  the  true  Russian  style, 
256 


RUDIN 

*  So  you  are  going  now  to  your  country  place, 
Lezhnyov  began  again.  '  I  don't  think  you 
will  stay  there  long,  and  I  cannot  imagine  where 
and  how  you  will  end.  .  .  .  But  remember, 
whatever  happens  to  you,  you  have  always  a 
place,  a  nest  where  you  can  hide  yourself. 
That  is  my  home, — do  you  hear,  old  fellow  ? 
Thought,  too,  has  its  veterans  ;  they,  too,  ought 
to  have  their  home/ 

Rudin  got  up. 

*  Thanks,  brother,'  he  said, '  thanks  !  I  will 
not  forget  this  in  you.  Only  I  do  not  deserve 
a  home.  I  have  wasted  my  life,  and  have  not 
served  thought,  as  I  ought.* 

'  Hush  ! '  said  Lezhnyov.  *  Every  man  re- 
mains what  Nature  has  made  him,  and  one 
cannot  ask  more  of  him  1  You  have  called 
yourself  the  Wandering  Jew.  ,  ,  .  But  how  do 
you  know, — perhaps  it  was  right  for  you  to  oe 
ever  wandering,  perhaps  in  that  way  you  are 
fulfilling  a  higher  calling  than  you  ^^now  * 
popular  wisdom  says  truly  that  we  are  all  in 
God's  hands.  You  are  going,  Dmitri,»  con- 
tinued Lezhnyov,  seeing  that  Rudin  was  taking 
his  hat     *  You  will  not  stop  the  night  ?  * 

257  R 


RUDIN 

'  Yes,  I  am  going  I  Good-bye.  Thanks.  .  .  . 
I  shall  come  to  a  bad  end.* 

'  God  only  knows.  ,  .  .  You  are  resolved 
to  go  ? ' 

*Yes,  I  am  going.  Good-bye.  Do  not  re- 
member evil  against  me.' 

'  Well,  do  not  remember  evil  against  me 
either, — and  don't  forget  what  I  said  to  you. 
Good-bye.'  .  .  . 

The  friends  embraced  one  another.  Rudin 
went  quickly  away. 

Lczhnyov  walked  up  and  down  the  room  a 
long  while,  stopped  before  the  window  thinking, 
and  murmured  half  aloud,  *  Poor  fellow ! '  Then 
sitting  down  to  the  table,  he  began  to  write  a 
letter  to  his  wife. 

But  outside  a  wind  had  risen,  and  was  howl- 
ing with  ill-omened  moans,  and  wrathfully 
shaking  the  rattling  window-panes.  The  long 
autumn  night  came  on.  Well  for  the  man  on 
such  a  night  who  sits  under  the  shelter  of  home, 
who  has  a  warm  corner  in  safety.  .  .  .  And  the 
Lord  help  all  homeless  wanderers  1 


«58 


RUDIN 


On  a  sultry  afternoon  on  the  26th  of  July  in 
1848  in  Paris,  when  the  Revolution  of  the 
ateliers  natwnaux  had  already  been  almost  sup- 
pressed, a  line  battalion  was  taking  a  barricade 
in  one  of  the  narrow  alleys  of  the  Faubourg  St 
Antoine.  A  few  gunshots  had  already  broken 
it ;  its  surviving  defenders  abandoned  it,  and 
were  only  thinking  of  their  own  safety,  when 
suddenly  on  the  very  top  of  the  barricade,  on 
the  frame  of  an  overturned  omnibus,  appeared 
a  tall  man  in  an  old  overcoat,  with  a  red  sash, 
and  a  straw  hat  on  his  grey  dishevelled  hair. 
In  one  hand  he  held  a  red  flag,  in  the  other  a 
blunt  curved  sabre,  and  as  he  scrambled  up,  he 
shouted  something  in  a  shrill  strained  voice, 
waving  hisflag  and  sabre.  A  Vincennes tirailleur 
took  aim  at  him — fired.  The  tall  man  dropped 
the  flag — and  like  a  sack  he  toppled  over  face 
downwards,  as  though  he  were  falling  at  some 
one's  feet.  The  bullet  had  passed  through  his 
heart. 

*Tienst'  said  one  of  the  escaping  revolu- 
259 


RUDIN 

tionists  to  another,  *  on  vieni  de  tuer  h 
Polonais' 

^Bigre!'  answered  the  other,  and  both  ran 
into  the  cellar  of  a  house,  the  shutters  of  which 
were  all  closed,  and  its  wall  streaked  with  traces 
of  powder  and  shot. 

This  *  Polonais  *  was  Dmitri  Rudin. 


THE   END 


Printed  by  T.  and  A.  CoxNSTable,  Printers  to  His  Majesty, 
at  the  Edinburgh  University  Press 


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